I have a special place for Vietnamese people. They taught me the meaning of Dickens' first sentence in Tale of Two Cities. The government of the U.S. had a hand in it too. More like a fist.
Fear and love. Fear came first. Even thought I didn't see their faces, I knew the guys motaring and firing at us at night were not smiling. Perhaps some of them were the same who did smile during the day, kowtowing to the barbarians.
Love came when I dealt directly with our indigenous workers. They were mostly women who did our laundry, cleaned up our hootches, and made our beds every day. New sheets every Saturday.
The men did more disgusting work, cleaning out the outhouse and burning our metabolic wastes in the cut down 50 gallon drums we shat in.
I was the guy who stood in the pay line getting $30 of Military Script from each soldier to convert to piasters to pay every one.
I find myself searching the faces in Vietnamese establishments looking for someone familiar, trying to account for the 40 years that have past since the last time I saw any of them. Most of those I see don't look old enough to have been born when I took part in that great deception and slaughter.
Perhaps I am searching for redemption from the sins of omission I committed. Perhaps I'm merely wallowing in my own misery to confirm my feelings of failure and guilt.
Perhaps.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Foxtrot, Foxtrot, Foxtrot!!!
"this Court now concludes that independent expenditures, including those made by corporations, do not give rise to corruption or the appearance of corruption. That speakers may have influence over or access to elected officials does not mean that those officials are corrupt. And the appearance of influence or access will not cause the electorate to lose faith in this democracy." U.S. Supreme Court in decision Citizens United, Appellant v. Federal Election Commission reported 01/21/2010 by Fox News.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
What The Fuck, Over.
Immigration reform! Ship THEM all back home or give THEM amnesty and let THEM stay. These are the extreme points of view.
If I knew the immigration laws I could write more knowledgeably about this mess.
What's the deal?
People are coming to the US in droves because things are pretty well fucked up in their home countries. You name them.
This place, US of A is so much better even if the illegals who make a hero's journey to get here are caught in the trap of having to carry around cash, when they get get work, which every shitbird knows about and takes the obvious action of robbing them or they wait around to do shit labor.
What to do. Give illegals the opportunity to legalize their existence here and bust the "business people" who take advantage of the precarious position by hiring illegals? Why not WPA like camps of illegals working on government projects while getting their legal shit in order. Have the camps take over the services provided by those that hired the illegals for pennies and make dollars off their labor and put those shits in jail. Job opportunities at correction facilities.
Then the BIG question arises. What's going on in these countries that make the herculean trip to this country worth it? Perhaps the money proposed to build a fence around our borders could be used to encourage our own corporation to set up shop in these countries. The wages would have to be at a life sustainable level for the workers.
California is bankrupt because it is trying to do the right thing for all. Why not act at the root of the influx of immigrants rather than spend all that dough flying or trucking them home?
I do have a selfish reason for proposing these solutions, I have not the ability to learn another language. I know a few Spanish words but cannot seem to grasp the sentence structure or all the words. I do enjoy the music of Spanish, even in anger (like Wagner). I enjoy the music of words, of communication. That's me.
Living in San Francisco again after 26 years elsewhere has been a cultural adaptation. I grew up here as a bit of a socialist, everyone watching out for everyone watching out for everyone else. Hippie shit. We're all in this together, let's help each other out.
The problem with that is the cost. Who wants to pay 29 to 59 % of their income to help their community? I will. Swedish is so hard to learn so I remain an American socialist. Anyway I hear they're having their own immigration problem although I have not researched it and truly, at this point, don't care about it. I am not moving unless a certain person will come with me. This is doubtful and probably will not happen since I like being with my brother and sisters and mother here in the cool gray city of love.
So, the other other comment I have is the seeming need to FIGHT for rights. Fortunately, working for change does the same thing without making pissy enemies. Che Guevara is no longer a viable icon. He killed to make his point and I hope those days are gone. Perhaps only for me.
The dreams of automatic weapons and explosives still occur bit only serve to depress me. I'm hoping the 21st century will evolve beyond such things but I am doubtful. This enforces the valuable effects of whiskey, which makes possible impossible dreams.
Written with unconditional love for a certain person on Queensbury Street.
If I knew the immigration laws I could write more knowledgeably about this mess.
What's the deal?
People are coming to the US in droves because things are pretty well fucked up in their home countries. You name them.
This place, US of A is so much better even if the illegals who make a hero's journey to get here are caught in the trap of having to carry around cash, when they get get work, which every shitbird knows about and takes the obvious action of robbing them or they wait around to do shit labor.
What to do. Give illegals the opportunity to legalize their existence here and bust the "business people" who take advantage of the precarious position by hiring illegals? Why not WPA like camps of illegals working on government projects while getting their legal shit in order. Have the camps take over the services provided by those that hired the illegals for pennies and make dollars off their labor and put those shits in jail. Job opportunities at correction facilities.
Then the BIG question arises. What's going on in these countries that make the herculean trip to this country worth it? Perhaps the money proposed to build a fence around our borders could be used to encourage our own corporation to set up shop in these countries. The wages would have to be at a life sustainable level for the workers.
California is bankrupt because it is trying to do the right thing for all. Why not act at the root of the influx of immigrants rather than spend all that dough flying or trucking them home?
I do have a selfish reason for proposing these solutions, I have not the ability to learn another language. I know a few Spanish words but cannot seem to grasp the sentence structure or all the words. I do enjoy the music of Spanish, even in anger (like Wagner). I enjoy the music of words, of communication. That's me.
Living in San Francisco again after 26 years elsewhere has been a cultural adaptation. I grew up here as a bit of a socialist, everyone watching out for everyone watching out for everyone else. Hippie shit. We're all in this together, let's help each other out.
The problem with that is the cost. Who wants to pay 29 to 59 % of their income to help their community? I will. Swedish is so hard to learn so I remain an American socialist. Anyway I hear they're having their own immigration problem although I have not researched it and truly, at this point, don't care about it. I am not moving unless a certain person will come with me. This is doubtful and probably will not happen since I like being with my brother and sisters and mother here in the cool gray city of love.
So, the other other comment I have is the seeming need to FIGHT for rights. Fortunately, working for change does the same thing without making pissy enemies. Che Guevara is no longer a viable icon. He killed to make his point and I hope those days are gone. Perhaps only for me.
The dreams of automatic weapons and explosives still occur bit only serve to depress me. I'm hoping the 21st century will evolve beyond such things but I am doubtful. This enforces the valuable effects of whiskey, which makes possible impossible dreams.
Written with unconditional love for a certain person on Queensbury Street.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Sitting In Judgement
The cars slowly roll through the Stop signs like predators searching for weakness. The forecast is for darkness through the night with brightening by morning. Waiting for the bus sitting on a bench built by the COE so the young lovers can make-out in the bus shelter.
Thinking of earlier in the day on 24th St. at Bernie's, a coffee room next to the Whole Foods store. A pleasant place to view the parade from. People walking their pets, mostly dogs and children of various types. Most of the children have vehicles to ride in, although some, as the dogs, are under their own power. The dogs are leashed for the most part.
A sign a Bernie's says, "Unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy." This seems to keep their owners attentive and the majority of kinderswine at Bernie's do not deserve that pejorative appellation. I admit a fondness for the word and like to say it whenever possible. It's very much like those who proclaim the US the greatest nation in the world. It may not be completely true but it is fun to say.
It's was a warm day, 84 in the city. This is hot to most San Franciscans although the newbies seem to find it "finally normal". The temperature at San Francisco Airport, which is some miles south in San Bruno, was 90. Snatches of cell phone conversations exclaim, "You need to sit out on your block and get some vitamin D . . .", ". . . and I just got so excited!", "I love you so much!", a father (supposed) says to his toddler son who is pointing and identifying the wonders he sees.
A pleasant parade with few unhappy creatures. Most of the people around here have good, well paying jobs. The stucco homes go for just under a million dollars. Rent in the Victorians is $2700/month. Working Man Victorians go for well over a million and some renovated places for several million.
This points out the whorish nature of San Francisco. 'Twas always thus. Good times, wondrous things to do, and glorious sights but you got to pay buddy. This, perhaps, is why this city is so tolerant. If you can afford it, you can be here. Tolerance and the freedom that it affords is the beauty of San Francisco. There is physical beauty too but it is the freedom to be an idiot, if you desire, that makes this place magical.
Thinking of earlier in the day on 24th St. at Bernie's, a coffee room next to the Whole Foods store. A pleasant place to view the parade from. People walking their pets, mostly dogs and children of various types. Most of the children have vehicles to ride in, although some, as the dogs, are under their own power. The dogs are leashed for the most part.
A sign a Bernie's says, "Unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy." This seems to keep their owners attentive and the majority of kinderswine at Bernie's do not deserve that pejorative appellation. I admit a fondness for the word and like to say it whenever possible. It's very much like those who proclaim the US the greatest nation in the world. It may not be completely true but it is fun to say.
It's was a warm day, 84 in the city. This is hot to most San Franciscans although the newbies seem to find it "finally normal". The temperature at San Francisco Airport, which is some miles south in San Bruno, was 90. Snatches of cell phone conversations exclaim, "You need to sit out on your block and get some vitamin D . . .", ". . . and I just got so excited!", "I love you so much!", a father (supposed) says to his toddler son who is pointing and identifying the wonders he sees.
A pleasant parade with few unhappy creatures. Most of the people around here have good, well paying jobs. The stucco homes go for just under a million dollars. Rent in the Victorians is $2700/month. Working Man Victorians go for well over a million and some renovated places for several million.
This points out the whorish nature of San Francisco. 'Twas always thus. Good times, wondrous things to do, and glorious sights but you got to pay buddy. This, perhaps, is why this city is so tolerant. If you can afford it, you can be here. Tolerance and the freedom that it affords is the beauty of San Francisco. There is physical beauty too but it is the freedom to be an idiot, if you desire, that makes this place magical.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Geez Us 1
Sitting in a coffee shop. Minimalistic, very zen. A stainless steel fountain consisting of a rectangular pedestal, pinched in the middle making a 3 dimensional X, topped with a sphere out of whose top slowly flows water. The faintest of sound. Thoughtful music by some Icelander band plays mournfully cheerful music.
I sip my coffee from the ceramic mug, fearless of possible lead contamination, more concerned with the taste of a paper cup ruining the flavor of the coffee.
Watching the Bottlebrush Tree out front waving in the breeze, I am in the zone. Content.
I am against the back wall in a low late 50's style vinyl and steel chair, the fountain to my right in the corner. In front of me sit two young men at a 4 top, babbling on about vectors and virtual reality. They wear T-shirts with a gaming company logo, jeans with wallet chains and leather shoes. Nice shoes. These guys are doing alright for themselves. Technicians discussing their triumph over a seemingly insoluble problem now nicely done. The pleasure of technical expertise. Only sex is better, good loving sex, or a really good dump, really good, the result of a balance of fiber and oils, no toilet paper necessary. Life can be exquisite.
Technicians, like Wernher Von Braun who mastered the first rocket missile for Hitler or his associate and enabler, Albert Speer, who keep the Nazi war industry purring despite devastating bombing raids. Insoluble problems solved.
Robert Oppenheimer, another technician, assembled a boat load of technicians like Bohr, Szilard, Fermi, and Teller to name a few. Together they solved the problem of creating one of those now famous WMDs, the atomic bomb.
Baby Boomers grew up learning how they would be vaporized if they didn't go to the basement and, sitting with backs against the wall, put their heads between their legs. Psychoanalysis thrived.
I sip my coffee from the ceramic mug, fearless of possible lead contamination, more concerned with the taste of a paper cup ruining the flavor of the coffee.
Watching the Bottlebrush Tree out front waving in the breeze, I am in the zone. Content.
I am against the back wall in a low late 50's style vinyl and steel chair, the fountain to my right in the corner. In front of me sit two young men at a 4 top, babbling on about vectors and virtual reality. They wear T-shirts with a gaming company logo, jeans with wallet chains and leather shoes. Nice shoes. These guys are doing alright for themselves. Technicians discussing their triumph over a seemingly insoluble problem now nicely done. The pleasure of technical expertise. Only sex is better, good loving sex, or a really good dump, really good, the result of a balance of fiber and oils, no toilet paper necessary. Life can be exquisite.
Technicians, like Wernher Von Braun who mastered the first rocket missile for Hitler or his associate and enabler, Albert Speer, who keep the Nazi war industry purring despite devastating bombing raids. Insoluble problems solved.
Robert Oppenheimer, another technician, assembled a boat load of technicians like Bohr, Szilard, Fermi, and Teller to name a few. Together they solved the problem of creating one of those now famous WMDs, the atomic bomb.
Baby Boomers grew up learning how they would be vaporized if they didn't go to the basement and, sitting with backs against the wall, put their heads between their legs. Psychoanalysis thrived.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
HOT?
San Francisco's summers are marked by fog and temperatures in the high 60's (on a good day). Mark Twain famously wrote that the coldest winter he ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.
In my youth, my friends and I would get a good chuckle from the tourists shivering on the Cable Cars. They thought they were going to California. Silly monkeys.
Yesterday and the day before brought temperatures above 80, 88 at the airport (but that's in California). It was very warm, single layer weather if layers were worn at all.
I was unfortunate enough to catch the local news whose lead story was, of course, how hot it was. The stories were written and reported by persons who obviously have not spent much time in the city because they were all agog over the sudden shift from fog to clear warm skies. Anyone who has paid attention over a year or two will have noticed that San Francisco experiences typically California weather in September and October before descending into a prolonged Fall until Spring.
I remember the first days of school after Summer Vacation being beautiful days of balmy weather. This is normal for San Francisco.
Yes, normal. Perhaps an odd word to describe this infamous city of tolerance but even oddities attain normalcy.
I've been back here a month, riding the buses and street cars, walking about and yesterday, the second day of plus 80 degrees fahrenheit, I saw more cranky and belligerent people than during the previous month. Normal. Some shops closed early, "because of the heat", others, without air conditioning, had borderline surly clerks.
Today is 79 with a nice breeze. All is well again. Normal.
In my youth, my friends and I would get a good chuckle from the tourists shivering on the Cable Cars. They thought they were going to California. Silly monkeys.
Yesterday and the day before brought temperatures above 80, 88 at the airport (but that's in California). It was very warm, single layer weather if layers were worn at all.
I was unfortunate enough to catch the local news whose lead story was, of course, how hot it was. The stories were written and reported by persons who obviously have not spent much time in the city because they were all agog over the sudden shift from fog to clear warm skies. Anyone who has paid attention over a year or two will have noticed that San Francisco experiences typically California weather in September and October before descending into a prolonged Fall until Spring.
I remember the first days of school after Summer Vacation being beautiful days of balmy weather. This is normal for San Francisco.
Yes, normal. Perhaps an odd word to describe this infamous city of tolerance but even oddities attain normalcy.
I've been back here a month, riding the buses and street cars, walking about and yesterday, the second day of plus 80 degrees fahrenheit, I saw more cranky and belligerent people than during the previous month. Normal. Some shops closed early, "because of the heat", others, without air conditioning, had borderline surly clerks.
Today is 79 with a nice breeze. All is well again. Normal.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Clouds
Wispy streams of white and gray flowing slowly, softly on the cool breeze. So unlike the dynamic shapes of the clouds in Boston and Chicago, these are more subtle, requiring more imagination to fit into definitive mythical shapes.
Wraiths and ghosts are not too tough but not as whimsical as a penis devouring a dragon. Perhaps when the weather warms in September the clouds will get more defined.
The fog rolls in overnight to cover the whole city, sometimes the whole area. Above the fog, from Mount Tamalpais, the low down cloud of fog is revealed. The sun shines on Tamalpais but not on Golden Gate Park or Twin Peaks or The Mission. The East Bay clears first, then east of Twin Peaks is bathed in sunlight. Golden Gate Park must wait, but today the fog recedes out to the ocean and seems to wait for it's chance to return.
Wraiths and ghosts are not too tough but not as whimsical as a penis devouring a dragon. Perhaps when the weather warms in September the clouds will get more defined.
The fog rolls in overnight to cover the whole city, sometimes the whole area. Above the fog, from Mount Tamalpais, the low down cloud of fog is revealed. The sun shines on Tamalpais but not on Golden Gate Park or Twin Peaks or The Mission. The East Bay clears first, then east of Twin Peaks is bathed in sunlight. Golden Gate Park must wait, but today the fog recedes out to the ocean and seems to wait for it's chance to return.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
ConAgra In Turners Falls
While eating on the go, I picked up a bar of Flax Tempeh. Imagine my surprise to notice it was made in Turners Falls, MA by Lightlife Foods. Happy scarfing followed.
Unable to leave well enough alone, I Googled Lightlife to find it has merged with ConAgra Foods to join Slim Jims, Chef Boyardee, Hebrew National, Parkay, and a pile of other brands.
Did the workers in Turners Falls get a raise or a pay cut? How does this bode?
I know I'm over reacting but I see the images from an old World War II propaganda flick showing the spread of the Nazis into Europe and the Mediterranean.
Unable to leave well enough alone, I Googled Lightlife to find it has merged with ConAgra Foods to join Slim Jims, Chef Boyardee, Hebrew National, Parkay, and a pile of other brands.
Did the workers in Turners Falls get a raise or a pay cut? How does this bode?
I know I'm over reacting but I see the images from an old World War II propaganda flick showing the spread of the Nazis into Europe and the Mediterranean.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Milk Cow Blues
We were opposites
Attracted to each other
Like magnets in a puzzle
Complementing one another
Filling each other’s empty spaces
She traditional, planning ahead
I spontaneous, in the moment
For years I shared her bed
We lasted quite a while but
Somewhere in those 30 years
Our evolution changed us
As we grew older
We grew separately
Not together as before
Once full spaces emptied
We grew
Apart
She grew one way
And I grew an udder
That’s the Milk Cow Blues
Milk Cow Blues
Milk Cow Blues
I give 6 gallons a day
I may be unusual but
You know I’ve earned my pay
Milk Cow Blues
Milk Cow Blues
That farmers hands are rough
But at least I’m alive and useful
And somehow that’s enough
Attracted to each other
Like magnets in a puzzle
Complementing one another
Filling each other’s empty spaces
She traditional, planning ahead
I spontaneous, in the moment
For years I shared her bed
We lasted quite a while but
Somewhere in those 30 years
Our evolution changed us
As we grew older
We grew separately
Not together as before
Once full spaces emptied
We grew
Apart
She grew one way
And I grew an udder
That’s the Milk Cow Blues
Milk Cow Blues
Milk Cow Blues
I give 6 gallons a day
I may be unusual but
You know I’ve earned my pay
Milk Cow Blues
Milk Cow Blues
That farmers hands are rough
But at least I’m alive and useful
And somehow that’s enough
Pretentious & Self-Indulgent
So it seems
So it is
For me
Nothing is certain
Nothing lasts
But life
And change
My line began with many others
In what is now Kenya
It continues through so many places
Specificity
Makes me
Greek
German
Italian
African
And everything in between
How ridiculous racial pride is
How ridiculous national pride is
We are all one race
Human
Carbon based life forms
More alike than different
Revenge stirs us to action
More than love
Greed
Anger
Lust
Hold sway over the mind
The mind which can sway all
With effort
Much effort
Some difficulty
It’s easier to be angry
Primal instincts lead us there
The tough
Hard-assed
Men
Women
Are weak
Their weakness lies in their ideas of
Strength
Power
Happiness
Might makes right is wrong
The mighty may write history
Though history is
Dwarfed by the universe
Dwarfed by 11 dimensions of physicality
Dwarfed by an idea of the infinite
Energy transformed
Not destroyed
Happy transformation
So it is
For me
Nothing is certain
Nothing lasts
But life
And change
My line began with many others
In what is now Kenya
It continues through so many places
Specificity
Makes me
Greek
German
Italian
African
And everything in between
How ridiculous racial pride is
How ridiculous national pride is
We are all one race
Human
Carbon based life forms
More alike than different
Revenge stirs us to action
More than love
Greed
Anger
Lust
Hold sway over the mind
The mind which can sway all
With effort
Much effort
Some difficulty
It’s easier to be angry
Primal instincts lead us there
The tough
Hard-assed
Men
Women
Are weak
Their weakness lies in their ideas of
Strength
Power
Happiness
Might makes right is wrong
The mighty may write history
Though history is
Dwarfed by the universe
Dwarfed by 11 dimensions of physicality
Dwarfed by an idea of the infinite
Energy transformed
Not destroyed
Happy transformation
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Whiskey Tango Foxtrot July 4, 2010
Looking for a place to be. A nice place with a baseball game on TV. All my usual places are closed. I venture to Norwood even though the wonderful Perks is closed. I turn the corner and Napper Tandy's is open with parking out front even though Norwood is having their parade today, down Washington St. (the main st. through town), a quarter of a block away.
I settle down with a Magners and an ice water. I intend to limit my alcohol intake to a trickle.
To my pleasure, they have free Wi-Fi. I find a cozy corner with an electrical outlet and fire up my iBook. Baseball seems to be the Yankees so I catch up on my mail and Facebook connections.
After an hour or so, I've finished my Magners and two glasses of water. Things are fine except I need to use the Men's room. The parade has started and it's on the TV showing events from an angle about two blocks away. Time to potty.
Happily finished and washing my hands when a 50 caliber machine gun opens up, very close. To the floor I go. It's sticky and I'm confused because the 50 continues like there's serious shit going on. His bursts a a bit long and I figure his a newbie, a cherry boy getting his busted.
Fuck! I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, but the 50 continues it's long bursts, small arms join in, no AKs, then a big explosion, outgoing and definitely not a mortar.
Going outside I see a little Sherman tank going by. The fucking assholes are playing war. There goes another 50 to the left and what I assume was the first resumes to the right, further down Washington St. Fuck!
I squat in the doorway peering around the edge to see cheering people waving flags and a WWII Halftrack with a 50 on it firing.
Fuck!
I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, Massachusetts. Fuck! I'm shaking as I quickly move inside and collect my things. The firing has moved down the street further. I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood.
I get the fuck out of there, fighting the urge to run in a low crouch. There's my car, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood.
Off I go heading west, away from the firing, more salvos from the tanks, there are at least two of them. Fuck! Tears come, images flash, I'm taking back streets to get away and avoid the parade route.
Finally, no more firing but I'm shook. The images come, laughing dipshits in green. Camouflaged pinatas hanging from the ceiling. Bits of shit flying through the night air, flashes and explosions, the smell of rotting meat. Fuck! I'm in Massachusetts, I'm in the world, I am not there! Fuck! Fuck! Tears! Fuck!
I pull into the parking lot of my favorite hang-out. Closed. "Have a nice holiday".
Tears flow bringing relief and the sureness of where I am. I need to be around people, people without war stories.
I end up at the BBC (British Beer Company) on Route 1, across from the Walpole Mall. I find a place in the back where there are no servers but electrical outlets. It's the stage area when bands play here but no bands tonight. Write!
Baseball highlights on the TV. Crappy 70s and Country hits play on the PA. I think of Fresno.
I'm heading for home in a week and 3 days. Much more packing to do and feathers not to ruffle too badly as I rely on the kindness of friends, actually one true friend so stressed with his own situation, I'm wondering about the state of my karma.
What The Fuck! Over.
I settle down with a Magners and an ice water. I intend to limit my alcohol intake to a trickle.
To my pleasure, they have free Wi-Fi. I find a cozy corner with an electrical outlet and fire up my iBook. Baseball seems to be the Yankees so I catch up on my mail and Facebook connections.
After an hour or so, I've finished my Magners and two glasses of water. Things are fine except I need to use the Men's room. The parade has started and it's on the TV showing events from an angle about two blocks away. Time to potty.
Happily finished and washing my hands when a 50 caliber machine gun opens up, very close. To the floor I go. It's sticky and I'm confused because the 50 continues like there's serious shit going on. His bursts a a bit long and I figure his a newbie, a cherry boy getting his busted.
Fuck! I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, but the 50 continues it's long bursts, small arms join in, no AKs, then a big explosion, outgoing and definitely not a mortar.
Going outside I see a little Sherman tank going by. The fucking assholes are playing war. There goes another 50 to the left and what I assume was the first resumes to the right, further down Washington St. Fuck!
I squat in the doorway peering around the edge to see cheering people waving flags and a WWII Halftrack with a 50 on it firing.
Fuck!
I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, Massachusetts. Fuck! I'm shaking as I quickly move inside and collect my things. The firing has moved down the street further. I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood.
I get the fuck out of there, fighting the urge to run in a low crouch. There's my car, I'm in Norwood, I'm in Norwood.
Off I go heading west, away from the firing, more salvos from the tanks, there are at least two of them. Fuck! Tears come, images flash, I'm taking back streets to get away and avoid the parade route.
Finally, no more firing but I'm shook. The images come, laughing dipshits in green. Camouflaged pinatas hanging from the ceiling. Bits of shit flying through the night air, flashes and explosions, the smell of rotting meat. Fuck! I'm in Massachusetts, I'm in the world, I am not there! Fuck! Fuck! Tears! Fuck!
I pull into the parking lot of my favorite hang-out. Closed. "Have a nice holiday".
Tears flow bringing relief and the sureness of where I am. I need to be around people, people without war stories.
I end up at the BBC (British Beer Company) on Route 1, across from the Walpole Mall. I find a place in the back where there are no servers but electrical outlets. It's the stage area when bands play here but no bands tonight. Write!
Baseball highlights on the TV. Crappy 70s and Country hits play on the PA. I think of Fresno.
I'm heading for home in a week and 3 days. Much more packing to do and feathers not to ruffle too badly as I rely on the kindness of friends, actually one true friend so stressed with his own situation, I'm wondering about the state of my karma.
What The Fuck! Over.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Goodbye To All That and This
The great migration begins with a consolidation of stuff. Much recycled, some trashed. Recycling is harder than I expected. Costly too. Fortunately I have a funky Dell monitor, so Staples will take it and circuit boards for free.
My tour of the Great Northwest of the Northeast begins after this weekend of horrific celebration. Much drunkenness and explosives. Celebrating free thought and behavior with traditional glorification of armed conflict. "So it goes", to quote one who knows the waste of such endeavors.
Unlike TV shows which usually have a suitable resolution within it's broadcast time frame, situations with people move slowly (if at all) and seldom resolve to the satisfaction of all. Resentment carries through generations, stalling evolution in it's tracks.
Robert Graves, from whom I appropriated and augmented my title, knows of the futility of armies clashing. He went off to Majorca, abandoning all he had been programmed to believe in and relying on his senses and wit wrote gorgeous groupings of words in poems, novels, and letters.
I humbly hope to do the same. I have already abandoned my programming from childhood through adulthood and now rely on my senses and wit. The 5 rivers of Mary Oliver is as sufficient an education as is worthwhile.
With the end of life in this realm closer than the beginning, I feel the need to be true to what I know. Squeegee my third eye and move ahead, allowing evolution to continue and not fight the changes of consciousness or perception.
My tour of the Great Northwest of the Northeast begins after this weekend of horrific celebration. Much drunkenness and explosives. Celebrating free thought and behavior with traditional glorification of armed conflict. "So it goes", to quote one who knows the waste of such endeavors.
Unlike TV shows which usually have a suitable resolution within it's broadcast time frame, situations with people move slowly (if at all) and seldom resolve to the satisfaction of all. Resentment carries through generations, stalling evolution in it's tracks.
Robert Graves, from whom I appropriated and augmented my title, knows of the futility of armies clashing. He went off to Majorca, abandoning all he had been programmed to believe in and relying on his senses and wit wrote gorgeous groupings of words in poems, novels, and letters.
I humbly hope to do the same. I have already abandoned my programming from childhood through adulthood and now rely on my senses and wit. The 5 rivers of Mary Oliver is as sufficient an education as is worthwhile.
With the end of life in this realm closer than the beginning, I feel the need to be true to what I know. Squeegee my third eye and move ahead, allowing evolution to continue and not fight the changes of consciousness or perception.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Hygiene
Flies clean themselves, I've see it. Much like cats but speedier. It rained heavily here and now the sun is out and a couple of flies toddled around in the sunshine, shaking their wings and wiping themselves with their feet. It seems odd that a creature that dines on various filth would take the time to clean up between meals. Perhaps a lesson for us all. As for me. I'll be taking a shower and brushing my teeth. Inspiration can come from the strangest places.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
There it is. Check it out.
Madness descends as a dark cloud enveloping all. Truth is hidden, perceptions hindered.
Selfishly I take responsibility for things beyond my control. Beyond my understanding.
My selfish desire to survive returns to curse my survival, damn my failure to prevent the unpreventable. Actual people, not images on film or video, bags of meat, blood, and bone bursting, raining their parts in a squall of death.
I felt it looming, felt it's presence, uttering only, "Fuck", as I threw myself to the ground as it let loose. Fire and steel everywhere, thumping against everything as I pressed myself onto the rich soil, trying to disappear into the earth and safety. Safety was nowhere.
Many people never got older. Some have never left me, appearing out of this cloud asking, "Why?"
Guilt, regret, build upon frustration in the darkness for the many left behind to suffer their fates for being our friends, working for us, helping us. All come from the darkness with ageless faces asking, "Why?"
Beyond ideological arguments lie the torn bodies and empty eyes of wrong thinking bastards who made ultimately the wrong choice. They trusted us as if we were the correct choice and we abandoned them.
What do they want to hear to leave me alone, if not in peace, at least alone. How do I answer, "Why?"
The righteous know best. God talks to them and tells them the wrong thinkers, the damned, must suffer, must pay with their lives. It's easy when you're right.
Re-education with the bullet and the club. Pain convinces, pain forces acquiescence to a new order as long as the pain stops and I survive to see another sunrise.
Let the sunrise and dispel the dark cloud. Bring the sun with the light of awareness to see the beauty of life away from the darkness of brooding cruelty and death.
Let it ache.
It is the humanity within that hurts so much. It will subside, it will pass, it will come again. Perhaps not so severe. Perhaps not for a long time. Perhaps not.
The cloud has dispersed in time for the sunset to make the bark of the trees glow a golden brown briefly as the sun continues it's way westward.
I shall follow.
I shall follow soon, leaving people I love behind. I shall be carrying my own baggage.
Pretentious and self-indulgent. Like Rock and Roll. Pretentious in the assumption that someone will give a grand who-ha about what I think. Self-indulgent in the relief expressing it brings.
It's only Rock and Roll, but I like it.
Sometimes the only thing that makes sense is an extended Hendrix solo or Clapton at the crossroad. The screaming dissonance describes the emotional turmoil and helps bring resolution and calm.
Rock and Roll.
Pretentious.
Self-indulgent.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Appearance Discrimination
Perusing ALDaily.com this morning I came upon the following, "Prejudice against unattractive people in the workplace runs deep. Obese women earn 12% less than thinner co-workers with similar qualifications... " with the following link: http://www.inthesetimes.com/working/entry/6090/the_beauty_bias_at_work_and_what_should_be_done_about_it/
I don't doubt the reality of this sort of social banishment. An ugly face is difficult to look upon unless you manage to engage the eyes. As the fabled windows of the soul, eye contact allows for more authentic communication but it is difficult to maintain with the distraction of striking physical attributes.
Discrimination of itself is not evil. We discriminate between what foods we eat, clothes we wear, where we live. It is only when another suffers from our choices that it becomes a concern. A concern of our own, not that of society. Being the change you wish to see (to paraphrase Gandhi's statement) is truly the only course one can follow to equality. An appreciation of the difficulty in altering inherent prejudices within oneself allows for a less stringent view of another's inability to follow the same path. There are as many paths as there are living things and it appears to me that all the paths lead ultimately to the same destination. Your path is your choice, discrimination again. We are all creatures of one sort or another huddling together in groups for protection and support.
As a child in the 1950's I was nannied by Mr. Farnsworth's television and one of my earliest role models was Alan Watts, whose program I enjoyed as more for his soothing voice and manner than for what he had to say which I am not sure I could comprehend at the time, but he seeed to be such a nice man, a gentle man. In his book, Beyond Theology, he states, "To be quite sure, to be set, fixed, and firm is to miss the point of life." I've liked that from the moment I first read it. It seems to me to be true to the flow of existence and fits right in with the survival techniques taught to me by the U.S. Army which I condense to, "Stay on the balls of your feet and use your peripheral vision. Stay alert, stay alive". Nothing is certain, change is constant. It smells like evolution.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Close To A Fir Tree
As I looked up the trunk I could see a path for climbing and thought of scrambling up as far as I could go.
Then I thought of the exertion it would put on my legs, arms and back and thought about it some more.
My thoughts went back more than 50 years when as a lad, my brother and two neighbor brothers climbed into the stand of firs that separated Ingerson Avenue from Gilman Park in Sunny Francisco.
We dragged planks up with us and made a walk way pretty much the length of the stand. Being a small person it seemed a great distance and very high off the ground. Daring danger we ran through the tree tops playing tag and I stole your bottle of water (that particular game ended poorly for me but caused riotous laughter for my chums and I shall leave the details to the memories of the participants).
Spying on the few people that came to Gilman Park was also a way to entertain ourselves. Not that anyone was doing anything more interesting than playing ball or sitting in the grass, it was still a bit of a thrill to watch knowing they didn't know we were. "I know something you don't know!"
The trees came down to make an access road to what became known as Candlestick Park, the new home for the relocating New York Giants. At least we got Willie Mays out of the deal.
At the time of the great construction we were all very angered by the rape of our playground. They took the trees and terraced the hill behind our houses. The hill was McLaren Park, separated by US 101 where it breaks into the city a bit west of the KYA radio tower. The western side had been subdivided although a good sized area of the original park remains along Mansell St., on the ridge separating Visitation and Portola Valleys. The eastern side, our side, had it's eastern end terraced to fill the bay and build the stadium.
Angry children steeped in glorified tales of adventures in World War 2 and Horatio Hornblower proved to be dangerous to progress. Cutting out expeditions caused delays in the construction of the stadium and pleased our little hearts to read about the cost overruns and ruined equipment.
In fact, I believe the first game played in the park was one of Tic-Tac-Toe in the wet cement of the one of the dugouts.
The dirt road that separated our neighborhood got paved and more traffic ended our street games although the construction supplied other games for our imaginative minds.
Then I thought of the exertion it would put on my legs, arms and back and thought about it some more.
My thoughts went back more than 50 years when as a lad, my brother and two neighbor brothers climbed into the stand of firs that separated Ingerson Avenue from Gilman Park in Sunny Francisco.
We dragged planks up with us and made a walk way pretty much the length of the stand. Being a small person it seemed a great distance and very high off the ground. Daring danger we ran through the tree tops playing tag and I stole your bottle of water (that particular game ended poorly for me but caused riotous laughter for my chums and I shall leave the details to the memories of the participants).
Spying on the few people that came to Gilman Park was also a way to entertain ourselves. Not that anyone was doing anything more interesting than playing ball or sitting in the grass, it was still a bit of a thrill to watch knowing they didn't know we were. "I know something you don't know!"
The trees came down to make an access road to what became known as Candlestick Park, the new home for the relocating New York Giants. At least we got Willie Mays out of the deal.
At the time of the great construction we were all very angered by the rape of our playground. They took the trees and terraced the hill behind our houses. The hill was McLaren Park, separated by US 101 where it breaks into the city a bit west of the KYA radio tower. The western side had been subdivided although a good sized area of the original park remains along Mansell St., on the ridge separating Visitation and Portola Valleys. The eastern side, our side, had it's eastern end terraced to fill the bay and build the stadium.
Angry children steeped in glorified tales of adventures in World War 2 and Horatio Hornblower proved to be dangerous to progress. Cutting out expeditions caused delays in the construction of the stadium and pleased our little hearts to read about the cost overruns and ruined equipment.
In fact, I believe the first game played in the park was one of Tic-Tac-Toe in the wet cement of the one of the dugouts.
The dirt road that separated our neighborhood got paved and more traffic ended our street games although the construction supplied other games for our imaginative minds.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Too Early
Thoughts whirl by in a blur. Every now and then one slows enough to come into focus. Synapse and off it goes, replaced by a tangential thought that arrives amoeba style. Morning becomes confusion.
Coffee. The rocket fuel of the Age of Enlightenment. Stimulus for focusing.
Forgotten, though, is the original intent amid the flurry of offspring.
Perhaps more stimulation, adjusting the chemicals in the brain, will bring clarity of thought, lucidity.
Such is the intent of the junkie. Lucidity and the warm embrace of security and peace. Opiates especially, provide this motherly illusion with dynamic physical certainty. Oxycontin, a synthetic opiate, has created more than one Oxymoron searching for security, peace, and happiness.
Too early for linear thought.
Gushing oil
Billowing clouds
Under water
In a blue sky
Vicious brutality
Delicate webs of sound
Over
Coffee. The rocket fuel of the Age of Enlightenment. Stimulus for focusing.
Forgotten, though, is the original intent amid the flurry of offspring.
Perhaps more stimulation, adjusting the chemicals in the brain, will bring clarity of thought, lucidity.
Such is the intent of the junkie. Lucidity and the warm embrace of security and peace. Opiates especially, provide this motherly illusion with dynamic physical certainty. Oxycontin, a synthetic opiate, has created more than one Oxymoron searching for security, peace, and happiness.
Too early for linear thought.
Gushing oil
Billowing clouds
Under water
In a blue sky
Vicious brutality
Delicate webs of sound
Over
Friday, May 21, 2010
Showering Thoughts
Washing my hair in the shower and close my eyes. I see a bright white rough edged disc with a thin but vivid orange edge to it. Oh boy! I think, It's the light at the end of the tunnel!
While reveling in my good fortune the disc separates into two, a smaller one over larger one but not as large as the original. Oh no!, I think, It's the train!
Being a devout procrastinator, my first thought is of my heirs arriving at my apartment and being horrified at the mess. All but my youngest who shares my relaxed sense of order.
Then, happily, the lights merge again to one again with less of an edge and I am pleased with how unusual it all is.
I finish my shower, grease my pits, brush my hair and tooth, and get dressed. Keeping on the balls of my feet, using my peripheral vision I exit to my day in the world. Bon chance!
While reveling in my good fortune the disc separates into two, a smaller one over larger one but not as large as the original. Oh no!, I think, It's the train!
Being a devout procrastinator, my first thought is of my heirs arriving at my apartment and being horrified at the mess. All but my youngest who shares my relaxed sense of order.
Then, happily, the lights merge again to one again with less of an edge and I am pleased with how unusual it all is.
I finish my shower, grease my pits, brush my hair and tooth, and get dressed. Keeping on the balls of my feet, using my peripheral vision I exit to my day in the world. Bon chance!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
dogsbody
Funny to run across this word today as I search for any job, menial or otherwise. It's Brit slang for a drudge (maybe even Matt) or menial worker.
I was reading an essay I found on aldaily.com called,
What Did Jesus Do?
Reading and unreading the Gospels.
by Adam Gopnik
Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2010/05/24/100524crat_atlarge_gopnik?currentPage=all#ixzz0oVigce64
and while explaining that the original Greek word that has been translated as a Carpenter and could have meant a day laborer, the author used the word dogsbody. Naturally I had to look it up so I Googled it and went to http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/dogsbody and after the page loaded was presented with pet ads, the first one being for pet insurance. Wonderful! Then a drug ad and after that a Iams dog food ad to help canine digestive systems with Iams PreBiotic Dog Food. Si mama, con Iams!
Quite a chuckleful day, all in all. The birds are fighting over nesting areas and partners. Very aggressive. While much quieter than a cat fight, birds are serious fighters, rolling on the ground, flapping wings, holding their adversary with feet while pecking like mad at whichever part of the body is exposed. A good analogy to a marriage spat. All is fair it seems, as long as you win.
Anyway, I saw Jesus today. He looks a lot like Joe O. (you may not know him) but darker skinned and has a voice like Truman Capote. Sweet guy really but likes to stick his nose (a good sized one BTW) in everybody's business.
I was reading an essay I found on aldaily.com called,
What Did Jesus Do?
Reading and unreading the Gospels.
by Adam Gopnik
Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2010/05/24/100524crat_atlarge_gopnik?currentPage=all#ixzz0oVigce64
and while explaining that the original Greek word that has been translated as a Carpenter and could have meant a day laborer, the author used the word dogsbody. Naturally I had to look it up so I Googled it and went to http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/dogsbody and after the page loaded was presented with pet ads, the first one being for pet insurance. Wonderful! Then a drug ad and after that a Iams dog food ad to help canine digestive systems with Iams PreBiotic Dog Food. Si mama, con Iams!
Quite a chuckleful day, all in all. The birds are fighting over nesting areas and partners. Very aggressive. While much quieter than a cat fight, birds are serious fighters, rolling on the ground, flapping wings, holding their adversary with feet while pecking like mad at whichever part of the body is exposed. A good analogy to a marriage spat. All is fair it seems, as long as you win.
Anyway, I saw Jesus today. He looks a lot like Joe O. (you may not know him) but darker skinned and has a voice like Truman Capote. Sweet guy really but likes to stick his nose (a good sized one BTW) in everybody's business.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Energy Transformation and detection
Energy is all around us. Kinetic, Frenetic, most happy, too sad, friendly, dangerous, creative, destructive. I can feel it, Dave. Synapse pop at the familiar phrase. Images appear along with sound no one else can see or hear. Still real within although outside the realm our 3 dimensional senses providing evidence of a fourth sense I call Wendy (because I can).
Wendy responds to the energy vibrations outside those perceived by sight, sound, touch (except in massive bursts, like when you get home to your hungry pet whose excitement at being feed at last is palpable to the sense of touch). The silent transfer of energy from one generator to another which in the case of you hungry pet, Wendy perceives as, "It's about time you selfish wad!" in the case of cats and, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" with the majority of dogs although there are a few inbred breeds that will quickly go for the throat to satisfy their needs for nutrition.
I suppose you could place Wendy as a subset to the sense of touch or even all three, but Wendy perceives beyond the limits of these. Wendy perceives the danger around the corner enabling you to go the other way, alert for an assault from the rear.
One of the major tenets of Physics is that energy cannot be destroyed, only transformed. This how the M Theory becomes convenient to those fearing death. Death as we know it is the failure of the vessel carrying our energy and I postulate that that energy released from the bounds of the body transforms to another of the 11 dimensions. The possibility of the energy having access to all dimensions seems as reasonable as any of the rest of this ramblin', ramblin', ram-bah-linnnnnnnn, outburst.
I further postulate that the vibration of the energy determines the dimension within which it is discernible. The conveniently accounts for those shadows seen on the periphery of vision, flitting by,
Of course, it could be the onset of a migraine
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