uh-oh

a society of men raised by women.
today it's a laughing matter,
tomorrow you'll have breasts.

Kirk

tempest

Three beers clog the filter

and rip it from its housing

a mess of mangled steel and

crumbling concrete

washes away

in the storm.

The spillway rages raw,

fully filled and

absurd with debris.

The power!

The roar!

An untamed man,

a wild beast,

tomorrow it subsides,

but tonight it never dies.

SHATTERING GLASS

turn your back for one minute,

the house goes up in flames,

it's a house you don't care about

but it's the house you're supposed to be building.

you're okay playing in the ashes

as you've always done

--but AMERICA NEEDS A PERFECT WHITE HOME

with a PERFECT WHITE PICKET FENCE

so

TRY

TRY

TRY

even with your mind is at its its breaking point,

EVEN IF

you feel like putting your

FIST THROUGH GLASS

WALLS,

DOORS,

CEMENT,

and YOURSELF

TRY AS YOU

FEEL the anger surge through your veins--

anger--NO--ANXIETY--AGITATION

as you TREMBLE in the urge TO TOPPLE THE WORLD,

to SEND IT SHATTERING AGAINST THE WALL

LEAVE CARS CRUSHED,

ROADS WRACKED,

FACES FEARFUL

raise your arms in

FRUSTRATION,
raise your arms to

SLASH AT THE SKY
raise your arms to

SEND IT CRASHING
DOWN
raise your arms--
YOU WANT TO DIE

words escape me

it's always a struggle,

this blog. trying to come up with pertinent and useful things to say--to package my thoughts and send them to you in a way that's at all meaningful. My mind is almost always at work, trying to digest the day to day events of my life: to enjoy the good, to notice the bad, to disentangle the puzzling, and to dismiss all of the bullshit. Maybe this concession is simply enough.

The Bhagavad Gita

succinct and remarkably pertinent:

Krishna speaking to Arjuna:

"when a man disciplines his diet

and diversions, his physical actions,

his sleeping and his waking,

discipline destroys his sorrow'

turn

unforgiving clocks,

first chances only,

it's you versus eternity--the a daily ritual

this is your slow death. it's in classrooms

and boardrooms and bedrooms. it's in casinos

and bars and behind couches, and in lonely

alleys, and in cardboard shantys.

recently it's

been staring at you from behind a screen. stealing

you, piece by piece.

it's the struggle fought since the dawn of man

and beasts and birds and it's never been

won, but everyone is forced to try.

those who struggle are emembered--

they cheat the system. evade death.

so you better put up a good

struggle--knock him out, a broken

nose, a black eye--do something--

there are no rules here, you how it

will end. cheat. lie. hide.

kick him, knock him, leave

him unconscious, in a filthy gutter behind

a mini-market--let him fall

into today's rain, yesterdays newspapers,

and the dark corner of your memory.

then start running. sooner or later he'll find you.

don't live half a life. don't throw half away.

run, fight, run and run like I do--always

trying to escape this lower state of existence.

quote

"happiness is impersonal in a way that pain is not"

quoted from a Slate article, describing the distorting effect Facebook is having

on our interpretations or judgements of others' happiness

Thought

Where fate fails us,

adaptation saves us.

or

adaptation fills the gap

between fate

and

fantasy.

Landmark

a starving man finds a lush,

shimmering oasis in the desert,

a young boy finds a

diamond, glinting, embedded

in the cliffs.

and I have found

reason--a reason

to believe in life again.