10/21/2006

An Apolitical Moment


Ah, so! The media is caught in the act! Deterring focus from peace by reminding us (like all good ego-centric processes do) that any disturbance in peace should be escalated by acts of retaliation - the imagery of the New York Times smearing (screaming like a claxon) the reminder of the death of peace as a result of 9/11 over any call for consideration of peace in Iraq, Iran, or elsewhere!

How does war effect media markets in terms of circulation and profit? How does the media bias coerce the various non-apolitical factions to rattle and hum in the wake of the media fueled public outcry? Either take a guess, or I will simply leave it as an exercise to the apolitical student.

Peace is not dead, but the media must keep it comatose for as long as the anti-apolitical monkeys are throwing their excrement at the laughing, photographing, paying crowd!

10/10/2006

Heartbreak Haiku

Letting go is hard
as frozen ground holds still life;
Spring Sunshine needs rain.

10/09/2006

Reasons For Rain

There's a dime in my right shoe
How it came to be under my second toe
I'll never know, but can probably guess;
It's Monday, and there's no telling
ever, what odd maifestations come to be
when it rains in the desert.

My old leather
my new sneakers
with the dime bouncing and sliding
and I'm out the dorr; visions of debit
and the electric bill paid;
the sky is full of electricity
swirling like the puddles around and into
my new sneakers - cold, in the desert
wet, in the desert
and the Counting Crows sing their songs of rain
into my damp ears.

Two blocks and I am streaming water
that tastes like the tears coming
into my ears from digiized ache
and I'm threading through rivulets
and pools and the cars are now boats
creating wakes that fall just short
fof my legs.

Two more blocks - the sky is myriad grey;
the pavement is black and rainbow-hued;
I look up street, up the mountain,
the rain is solid, yet thin;
a scrim that makes me wonder of Dover;
does the mist there look like this,
sometimes, even a little?

Past the sodden park, past the lake that once
was a rodeo field; across canals, once streets;
the water flows shallow, determined to create
some illusion of Venice in the desert;
som play of light and shadow and wet elsewhere;
"Mr. Jones and me, staring into the future..."

The parking lot of the bank is thick with empty wet
It's a holiday, you dope - six blocks of
streaming, music-infused trudge and I shrug at
the illusion of Comumbus' great discovery -
just another particle washed away by the rain;
and I think of worthlessness, and smile
because I have six blocks to go.

Back down the hill, back through the rivers
that are never the same, swirling water;
patterense of uncaring change and erosion;
drops of water touching me, taking an atom here
dropping off some isotope there- finding it's path
as I find mine; a somnolent roll of thunder, more
a sigh than a cough or - "...and kindness falls like rain..."

The rest of this walk is silent inside, I'm singing now, at the top of my lungs - streaming tears that taste like rain; footsteps flowing along the course that takes me back to this home, but not the same one I left - I have stepped sideways, into a new current, into a universe next door; the dime sticks to the sole of my foot.

The traffic flows by; lights on, wipers flap to the beat in my ears, to the beat of my heart, to the rythm of my steps, to the cadence of water drops pounding out their coded message on my soaked scalp. I see, in my minds eye, puzzled faces in the SUVs, sealed and intrepid, plowing their way through this symphony unheard; I pity their comfort today - I smile, and I wave at them - come out, the water is fine!

I am in no hurry to walk in my front door; to smell the Champa and Bergamot; to drink the strong black coffee; to warm and dry away this shower of serenity, but I have discovered the resons for rain; for a moment I am the Rain King, and the lesson can be released and passed on the next heir apparent. And now, I type in rythm to the drip and swoosh of cars and rain going by, I'll take the dime from my shoe, and put it away somewhere safe; today, it has earned it's place.

10/07/2006

Hypothesis: Sex Driving

It is my hypothesis that:

(H0) We can tell a lot about a person's sexuality by observing the style, attitude, and mannerisms that person uses while driving / riding / moving in traffic.

I have carried this hypothesis in my head for a long time, and have experienced some validation of it.

Any thoughts?

10/04/2006

Welcome Home (Raw Mix)

No frills, studio "live"

Welcome Home (Raw Mix) - I'm using e-snips to host the file - if anyone has any better ideas, please let me know. Thanks.

[u]Welcome Home[/u]

*1*
Out on my front porch
late tonight
staring at the moon
playin’ & singin’,
smokin’ and drinkin’, & thinkin’
thinkin’ hard about you.
I shouldn't wanna do it
if I don't wanna not do it right,
Baby, it’s the truth!
All I need to do is look into
the mirror of my life
to see the proof

*chorus 1*
I've been searching for so long
Knowing that this song
Won’t write itself, alone
Moving; patient, toward the day
When your light would shine my way
When I could feel your soul and
sense your whisper
“welcome home.”

*2*
When you call,
I feel so full of you, connecting,
coming through my telephone.
It’s just like I'm waking
from a long deep dream, and you’re
telling me it's morning.
I don't need much more
than just to hear you tell me
you're feeling all right
But, I must admit I really
want to dance with you tonight
and feel your soul light up!

*chorus 2*
I've been searching for so long
Knowing that this song
Won’t write itself, alone
Moving; patient, toward the day
When your light would shine my way
When I could feel your heartbeat
whisper
“Hey, Darlin, Welcome home”

*3*
Sitting on my front porch
Late tonight
In a state of grace
I look into the full moon
And know the destiny
That I embrace
I feel your warm heart
Shining in me
The moon reflects your face
The stars' domain cannot contain
This waking dream remains
I speak your name.

*chorus 3*
I've been searching for so long
Knowing that this song
Won’t write itself, alone
Moving; patient, toward the day
When your light would shine my way
When I wrap you in my arms and say
“Hey Darlin’ welcome home.”

10/03/2006

Newstrich: Is avoiding Loop-News the same as sticking one's head in the sand?

"After the first report of catastrophe, it is no longer news."
-Henry David Thoreau

The stormcrows that be would like you to think yourself irresponsible for not sitting down, tuning in, and falling through to the universe of constant struggle, pain, and sorrow. The world is getting crazier because the water that we drink (Christian metaphor here) is not just tainted, it's doctored - spun, tweaked, and flavored poison.

I used to be a news junkie - NPR, CNN, FOX, Pacifica, and C-Span were my downfalls (Comedy Central was some twisted relief for the twisted reality.) But, I "stuck my head in the sand" - more like, I pulled my head out of the bucket.

There is more news out there that is not reported than the news that is - fear, fire, flood, pain, panic, and murder are the global news agenda; that's not life, it's death!

Blue Oyster Cult's ("40,000 men and women everyday") wrote 'Don't Fear the Reaper', runs through my head once in awhile when I find myself somewhere I cannot avoid the newsloops - loops, loops, loops... And I try to remember This One Thing - I'll write it big:

They don't call it programming for nothing!

10/01/2006

False Friends: a lesson

False friends are nice
they will turn you over
and say, "Namaste!"
they'll even do it twice
to make sure the word
touches you.

That short sharp shock
will leave you numb,
will come from behind,
just in front of the denial;
there is an endless line-
move along, pay no mind- next!

And when you know it's done
the laughter comes,
tickles your ear
like a kindness
almost heard, then bites down;
and you learn that your soul can bleed.

Thank you for the lesson - goodbye