Donald Trump and his new Republican Party proved something: That a Constitution written when indoor plumbing was actually cutting-edge technology, is not itself strong enough to withstand a manipulative assault on it by a modern day organized crime mindset that literally came of age in the dark gaps found between its words.
Like a lot of people, I have been looking at a lot of heartbreaking videos. I just don’t understand that much hate. I really don’t.
I can understand a verbal explanation of it, sure. But I can’t wrap my heart around what it takes to twist your soul into so many knots that the only explanations you will accept anymore are based on the idea that everything around you is really a deception. A place where secret societies pull all the strings, and where everyone wants to make everything about you and your life irrelevant. A place where the hope you have is that if we can somehow just eliminate all of the physical differences we find objectionable in people, then we can some sort of Super Utopian Alpha society.
But that kind of hate doesn’t just go away once it gets what it wants. Things would just end up playing out like all of the nasty parts of American history, but in reverse and way worse. Once they got rid of the first (and darkest) layer of people, you know they would suddenly discover some other social group to degrade. Bullies just look for new victims. And then who knows… But, left-handed people may want to quietly remain on notice.
Personally, I could not, and do not want to live in a world like that. And like a lot of people, there doesn’t feel like much we can do right now. We voted already. And we can’t fight this with violence. That’s exactly what they want. But there is one thing we can do. And they’ll never see it coming.
The next time we see someone that you really don’t like right now, say something nice to them. Something that reminds them know that we are all still neighbors. Do it for no other reason than that it is in forgiving that we are forgiven.
The molecule that makes people camp out for days just to get a new iPhone a few weeks before their neighbor, is the very same one that drives people to rapidly refuse to wear a mask the more we ask them to. We need to de-escalate the stigma of it somehow.
The ego is the non-Newtonian fluid of our spirit. The more we force this issues, the harder they’re going to push back on it. More PSAs, less confrontations folks.
This used to be a cohesive blog to some extent, until a few years ago. A few years ago I started to get migraines.
Actually, based on what I now know about migraines, I guess I’ve had them for most of my life. So the fact that I say it the way that I do means they got pretty bad. Bad enough to have screwed with every part of my life, in one way or another.
I always loved writing, but as the migraines got worse, the ability to string two thoughts together has gotten more difficult. Add to that the fact that most of it is written on a tiny little phone screen, and I fat-finger things when I trying to ride an epiphany and get the words out as fast as they roll through.
Then there was this thing I learned about that can go with migraines, called aphasia. I can ‘see’ exactly what it is that I want to say, but its word isn’t with it anymore. When I am writing and it happens, I give up. In daily life, I just come out with weird shit, like referring to a cutting board as ‘the under-the-knife block’. I get frustrated because I want the writing to be good. I’m starting to not care about that as much as i used to. Fuck it. If my typos bug you, there plenty of other blogs you can visit.
I’ve written a lot, but I think I deleted even more.
Poetry has helped me though. Because I don’t have to string thoughts. I have to evoke images and feelings, and tie them together in some sort of dance. And so, that’s been the majority of what I’ve been writing.
Many times I have tried to write about what I had been going through, only to delete it the next day when everything seemed to change again. If you know someone suffering migraines, you know what that means.
Much of it is related to chronic pain, and so a great deal of this involves dealing with that, when I wasn’t in migraine. And often with both at the same time. Although migraines tend to take over the show. Back pain is kind of like a guy who follows you everywhere playing a harmonica. He would be obnoxious and drive you crazy, right? But imagine if he were to then follow you into a Lou Reed concert or something. If you were even able to hear him, even then he would at best be mildly irritating. Migraines are like that. They’re so loud, they drown everything else out around them.
And with pain, comes pain management. And with pain management comes medicines. And I am in recovery. And it’s at that point that Pandora’s Box comes apart at the seams, as the scotch tape repairs let go again.
That’s been the juggle lately, anyway. Or at least it’s a good jumping off point for a few things.
The other day I was walking into work and found myself consciously avoiding the cracks in the segments of cement sidewalk. I felt a little ‘Monk-ish’ and I could hear Devo singing in my head, “Step on a crack… break your mama’s back!”
But then I thought, “Wait! my mother’s dead. I’m free! This isn’t going to hurt her!”
Then I went and made sure to step on every goddamn crack.
Hurray! for the day
when the NRA falls
and the rest of the lobbying swine
Amendment Two even
protects us from THEM
and the pockets of money they line
to scare you at home
is their main power point
as they scam-off and co-opt our rights
that amendment is ours
it’s as safe as the rest
they concoct all the dangers they fight
there weren’t liberal plants
to come for your guns
and that Q thing is frankly, bizarre
start using your brian
let go of your hate
the country we’re killing is ours
living out of the jewel in your heart
love, your connection to each
a filigreed heart for mother and child
fierce in your fight with unjustness
silhouetted by the hallway’s glow
an Angel Trumpet on the breeze
the gauze of your gown hued deep in joy
barefoot to the earth, a smile to sky
you love like a martyr, taking on pain
those in your grace, you cast a pure light
together we draw, when you become near
each fragment made whole by balm
pictures and paintings on walls
in every place you are missed
I wait again to smell your scent &
a crushing hug to bind my heart
a cosmic pulse goes out from you
like a sunspot on my mind
stirring and interfering with myself
and the ways I live and die
veering down an antique canyon
searching through rubble and pictures
for you, thru you, i come to them
regret rains down like foam
a testament to eternality
and the permanence of love
families go on, friends are gone
when the strings of you unwind
the gordian knot of grief, it shivers
resonates itself through space and time
the 7th dimension of too much hurt
revolves in time with Yamantaka
turning and spinning
towards the center and back
esteem hits below the belt
love only takes one more
the inevitability of karmic debt
meets the prayers of the saints
halfway to providence and back
I should have learned it then
the silence I long sought inside
now returned an echo of dense
that old son of a bitch is dead
chattering on from his grave
chance took my chance away
with misery born of longing
solitude’s underbelly exposed
while guilt slow nurtures the hounds
i once knew
a magician whose
best trick was to get out
before the shooting starts
saving an artist’s heart
the pain we all feel
as open-minded feelers
expose their hearts to live
when the ravenous breath
of a new orange julius
is lobbed by industry
at the soul of men