Thursday, August 27, 2015

Poem Redux-Escape

                                                                  Escape




Escape….
   The long, black, cracked tongue of static highway races out to the heart of a starless horizon.
   Summer ignites.
   Phantoms of heat writhe in ecstasy at the unattainable distance as the miles melt away.

Gone,
   as my American engine warps time out through the emptiness, raw in the cephalic heat.
   Speed, holding whole my wicked soul as I seek shelter from
   a Wild,
   blue-eyed,
   Girl.

Low,
   across the western twilight sky, storm clouds gather to swallow the vast magenta tide of dusk      
   in its wake.
   So, I stand on the gas and rush out, mad, to meet the rain.
  
Yet,
   I cannot shake her kinetic presence.
   Her eyes burn hollow in constant dreams.
   Her satin flesh there, warm in slumber beside me.
   Her misty voice, a song
   as soft as rain.


 Frantic,
   I race headlong into the heart of the storm, sliding reckless through the maelstrom,       
   constellations of traffic glow, bizarre in the immortal gloom, as I fall.
   Left betrayed by the memory of her,
   betrayed by my own, lone, manic heart.
   Her essence is mine, here forever now,
   her music,
   intrinsic.


   Or, perhaps I just need more road.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

A Lament for Oligarchs

There are a hundred bloody good reasons why
I'd like to kill you, oligarch.
Watching as children starve
As good men labor poor into the grave
As mothers cry over murdered sons
I could kill you while you sit sated,
smiling on a pile of money
But, I still have a few loose morals left.
I'm not like you.

I should not even mention murder, here,
summer 2015.
I've seen enough of it.
There's been enough of it.
The blood spills in our streets too freely.

I think, perhaps, this is to your advantage?

Really, when I stop to contemplate your place in the world,
I feel sorry for you.
It must be hard work keeping everyone off guard
and at each other's throat,
divided.... conquered,
while they sleep with illusions of liberty.
It's not a task I envy.

What I can't abide though, oligarch,
is you taunting me with that freak show
you own called American politics....
I mean you've got to be fucking with me, right?
Am I really to believe that these goofballs
are actually capable of running a country.
You won't even let us have a true martyr anymore.
I think that's just a bit too cruel.

And in parting, my dear oligarch,
just one last thing before I let you
get back to screwing everyone.
I'd just like to know,
what it's like to have all of that blood on your hands
and not feel anything?
It might help me out while I try to endure what you've done to us.



Thursday, June 11, 2015

Bruce Jenner and the Great American Backlash

     Or perhaps, I should call her Caitlyn. 
     
     Normally, this is a subject I wouldn't touch. As an American, Bruce/Caitlyn Jenner is absolutely free to do what ever dumb ass thing they want as long as it doesn't harm anyone else. If that's how they feel comfortable, so be it. 
     
     It's none of my business.
     What drew me into the story was the backlash. 
     There's been a lot of it.
     
      On one level, I think a lot of people have trouble understanding why someone would go to such extremes to transform in this manner. The concept of not being comfortable in their own gender is alien to most. Which is as it should be, I suppose. 
     
    I think that it's good, though, for people to be confronted in this manner once in a while. It causes them to have to fire up a few extra synapses to navigate they're own feelings and affirm they're own self-concept. But, as we've seen, when people are confronted in this manner, if they do not agree, they have no trouble raising their voices to protest. 
     
     Now, this is also in-line with their rights. They are also free to say whatever dumb ass thing that is on their mind as long as it doesn't harm anyone else. The thing that I always find amusing in such circumstances is that all of their bellowing and righteous indignation only serves to bring more attention to the thing they are railing against. So, as with any new cause, or concept, there is no such thing as bad publicity.

     That said, there are aspects of this story that I personally do not agree with. So, as is my right, here is my dumb ass two cents;

     As this story goes along I have heard the word hero bandied about. This does not leave a savory taste in my mouth. A true hero, to me, is someone willing to risk life and limb to keep others safe. A soldier is a hero. A firefighter is a hero. Most police officers are heroes. Someone willing to have themselves chemically and surgically altered to inhabit a new gender can certainly be called brave, and I would also go as far as to call them role models for others faced with the same issues of gender identification, BUT, I find hero quite beyond the pale.

     As far as the ESPY's go, I find the whole thing ridiculous. The only reason these awards carry any kind of weight is because we allow them to. I think the awards, especially with this year's decision to give the Arthur Ashe award to Jenner, are more about ESPN exploiting the opportunity to create controversy; 1) To increase their visibility (as indeed is Jenner by making his transformation into a media circus) and 2) As a way to create an influx of new revenue, (Jenner-in the same manner). 

     I know a lot of people feel as I do about this, but, as any hero worth their salt will tell you, it's not about laurels and awards. It's about doing what is right. So, if you feel strongly enough (and especially if you are one of the people raising three kinds of hell about it). I challenge you to make a donation in Lauren Hill's name to The Cure Starts Now Foundation or make a donation in Noah Galloway's name to The Wounded Warrior Project.  I think that is a far better tribute to both of these heroes than any award could ever be. 

   

    

     
     
     

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Back to the Blog....

I'm Baaaacck.....

    I absolutely cannot believe that it's been almost 3 years since my last blog! 
    That's how busy I've been. The time has escaped me.
    There's way too much great stuff that's happened to possibly catch you up on everything I've been up to, but here are a few highlights....
     I've had a couple of grandchildren born since I last posted. Both girls. One is actually in her terrible twos, she's probably terrorizing her Mom and older sister as we speak. 
     The younger one was born late last year and I have yet to meet her...I only have pictures. Hopefully, this summer I will get the chance to spoil her a little.
     My children are doing well. My oldest just turned 25 and my youngest will be a senior in high school this fall. It  makes me feel really old at times, but it is a constant joy to see how they acquit themselves on life's journey. They are all smart, thoughtful, loving children and I am proud of each of them.

      As most of you probably know, my debut novel was released in the fall of 2013. It's been a slow climb and I'm still working hard to get it in front of a bigger audience...If you haven't read it, it's new to you, right? 
      If you have read it...I thank you! Please tell everyone you know....Hell, tell everyone you don't know, as well. I need all of the help I can get.
     Since then, I have been working feverishly on new material. I have short stories sent out all over hell and gone to magazines so hopefully one or two of them will get out to you soon.
     The first draft of my next novel is done and is resting peacefully in The Cloud for a bit to give me some time away before the rewrites begin. With a little luck and a lot of begging I hope to have it out and in your hot little hands by 2017. 
     In the meantime I am working at editing my first poetry book and hope to have it out some time next year. I have a few of the poems posted here and on my Facebook page...So, if you're interested you can check them out. 
                                     (I'll post links to all of it at the bottom of this page.)
     Please forgive my shameless self promotion, BUT, if I don't do it your Mom sure as hell won't.
     
      So, that's it for my first post...I just wanted to get back in the groove and catch up. My plan is to post new stuff every Thursday, or every other Thursday, so you'll have something new to complain about going into the weekend. So please, keep an eye on this space...It's about to get interesting......



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Sunday, October 21, 2012

21st Century Hip and the Nuevo Beat

   This weeks post comes from a conversation with a group of friends. It is an explanation of my fascination and an attempt to lay out what it is that moves me....Please feel free to share your thoughts...........


   Nestled inside the turbulent history of the 20th century a new thing arose to challenge the status quo and cause the world to stop and wonder at its new direction-Hipness. Hipness was a form of detachment from societal norms, an exploration of thought and feeling independent of Old World values. It was an unforeseen reaction to the new found wealth and shifting populations of the Industrial Revolution. It's propagation, the result of the new medias of radio and film. For the first time in the history of the world communication moved at the speed of light. What Orson Welles said on New Jersey radio could completely freak out half of a nation...instantly...it was a new era...and the genie was barely out of the bottle.
   From the Lost Generation of F. Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway, who eschewed the morals of Post WWI
America, to The Beat Generation of Kerouac and Ginsberg who felt the same separation after WWII, hip was made concrete in the age of jazz, in the restless movement from city to city, from coast to coast, from New York to Paris to Tangier, from The Sun Also Rises to Mexico City Blues.
   The Beat movement, in particular, became a world wide phenomena. As the writer, William S. Burroughs, put it, "It came from a world wide realization that modern society sucked."
   This mental rebellion led to the birth of the counterculture movement in the 60's. When hip evolved into a total way of life for a generation...complete with its own set of values, self determined and set on a common cause, the end of the war in Vietnam.
    Now, this is where my generation comes on the scene-Generation X. The generation born to live as a bridge between centuries. A generation who grew up at the dawn of the Information Age. A generation whose mental make-up evolved with evolution of the mass media, from 4 T.V. Channels to 400, from dial up internet to Wi-Fi, from rotary phones to the Android and I-phone.
   For the most part, I'd say we've handled these changes well. Most of the people my age I know are tech savvy, though, to varying degrees. I, for one, don't have a cell phone. I have two e-mail accounts, a Facebook page, a Twitter page, and, of course, this raggedy blog, but, I truly don't feel the need to be at anyone's beckon call, anytime, any place.
   I guess it's just one of my many quirks...........
   So, what does all of this have to do with Hip, you ask?
   Everything...............
   See, my hip, my bliss, is pretty eccentric. The most obvious is music. I love Rock-n-Roll in all of its various guises over the past 50 odd years. I can dig on Elvis just like I dig on Judas Priest or The Stones, The Beach Boys or The Beatles. The Doors, Springsteen, Patti Smith or Prince...I'll crank up Sly and the Family Stone just like I will Black Sabbath. I'm as apt to put on Stevie Nicks as I am Slipknot. I like the Blues and Swing as well as Classical music. The only thing you won't find in my music collection is Country, not that I have anything against it, it's just not my cup of tea.
   It just never spoke to me....
   I'm just as eccentric in my tastes in literature. These days, I lean toward more modern works, but I have whittled many hours away engrossed in the works of Mark Twain and Alexandre Dumas. I prefer H.G. Wells to Jules Verne. Of course, I grew up learning which one had better hit the future's mark, but, in pure literary terms, Wells wrote in a more modern style, consciously attempting to distance himself from Victorian models...once again, kids,....hip.
   More writers on my literary hip list would include all of the Lost Generation (Scott Fitz over Hemingway) and all of the Beats (Burroughs' manic surrealism over Kerouac's self conscious confessions) The new cool centers around Douglas Adams (R.I.P) (Thanks for all the fish!!) Chuck Palahniuk, Greg K. Bear, the venerable Stephan King, Brett Eliot Easton, Scott Card and the newest kid on the block Don Peteroy!
   In the realm of film, hip was there from the very beginning! In the 1910's and 20's, understanding the implications and opportunities inherent in the new medium was completely hip. The visionaries were there from the very beginning; Max Seneca, Chaplin, Fritz Lang, Buster Keaton, Cecil B. DeMille, onward to Orson Welles, Alfred Hitchcock, John Huston, Billy Wilder and Stanley Kubrick, onward to Mel Brooks, George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Blake Edwards, The Wachowski Brothers, Wes Andersen, and Quentin Tarantino. The films made by these greats would be way too long to go into, but, the most unique, fantastic, heartfelt, funny, visually and emotionally stirring films I've ever seen all derive from the men on this list. Time with any of their works is time well spent.
   And, to end this rather lengthy offering, I will leave you with a short list of my favorite comedians, the ones who live up to Mel Brooks' well coined, stand up philosophers: Lenny Bruce, George Carlin, Richard Pryor, Bill Hicks, and my new favorite....Ralphie May.
   As you can see, the new hip encompasses the whole of the history of hip. All of the outsider beauty of all the generations of soul geniuses spill down through the years, all of their permutations relevant in all varied forms.
   It's like Bruce Lee's Jeet Kune Do. It is a form that encompasses everything, while in and of itself contains nothing.
   I like that....the Zen of it.
   I think The Great Beat Granddaddies would approve.

 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 

Saturday, October 6, 2012

Untitled Dirge

Harpsichord melodies fall flat against
the heavy metal drone of fearless
mourning
of tortured skin
The horrible array of meat wheel masters
failing to soothe the flat faced beast
of time

Wild sweat leaf realizations ring
true in the blackened grime
of gutters
Fascist epiphanies rising
on rainy rooftops
Crazed rebuttals of hope
boil on bloody tongues
Shattered acquiessances screamed
over meager cannibal feasts

But, through it all, your face endures
Your smile alluring on frozen mornings
My china fragile composure blown
among tangled sheets
cigarette butts
keyless chimes on cans of liquid brave
waking nightmares erupting
in these lonely spotlight blues

You were not a game
You were not a ride
You were part of me

So, now, I'm lost
Sitting sardonic in sonic temples
Watching aluminum faces spout
bullshit out into the aether
Pondering they're own fate
Pandering to their own distorted view
As I melt away inside chemical regressions
Hollow in the empty current of my own
electric voice