A Living Nightmare

The right has lost their collective and individual minds. I believe in calling a spade a spade—and the primary reason conservatives are so upset, throwing bricks through congressmen’s doors, spitting on senators, shouting epitaphs is simply because a black man is president. And, now he’s cemented himself in history as being the 1st American President, of any hue, to pass health care legislation. For conservatives it’s a living nightmare. How could this have ever happened? How could they have allowed a black man to become president? Well one reason was that we had 8 years of a blithering idiot who thought Africa was a country. According to polls, one of the main reasons Bush got elected was because the public thought he was someone you’d like to have a beer with. A beer with? Is that how conservatives want to elect the leader of the free world, whether he’s the type you’d want to get drunk with or not? Okay, considering Palin and Joe-the-plumber I guess so. But, wouldn’t it make more sense to want the president to be someone you’d have a single malt scotch with? I was for Hillary myself. Not necessarily popular with my brothers and sisters but home-Sally knew her shit. She didn’t need cue cards or a Sharpie stained palm to give a speech. And, Hillary was very specific—while Obama is often (then and now) only generally specific. Also, I felt Obama hadn’t been around long enough. He hadn’t accumulated enough favors. What back door deals could he finesse? But Hillary fucked up, hired the same PR firm that managed Union Carbide’s environmental disaster in India, and then she got ugly. I shook my head when Obama won the Democratic nomination. I thought, you have perhaps the worst President in history leaving office and you put up a black man? Okay that’s one thing—but his name is Hussein Obama—can’t the democrats do anything right? The presidency is being handed to them and they nominate a Black man with a Muslim name—the very name of the supposed master mind of 911. They just wanted to lose. Then, the republicans select Sarah I-don’t-know-what-journals-I-read Palin and their nightmare is alive all over again. A Black man becomes President. Then one of the 1st things the Obama’s do (aside from bail out the banks and work on health care) is start a victory garden at the Whitehouse—God forbid please don’t harvest watermelons this summer.

Death and Dark Roots Video

This is the video David and I shot in my attic with the pocket camera he swiped from his 11 year old daughter. We loved the fact that New Jersey appeared at the bottom of the frame. The book that the camera is sitting on is part of our tripod mechanism. The image is rather dark. We shot one that looks better but this one had such a cooler feel to it. I recently met this woman, Sylvia, whose a photographer. I'm gonna try to get her to shoot the next video because at least she'd have a better understanding of light. She says that she knows nothing about video but then I found out that she's a photography major in school so that's not gonna fly.




Death and Dark Roots

Looking out the window
wanting to see a peaceful setting
the moon rising above a patch of still grass
air breathing through the trees
branches brushing against each other
like office paper jogged carefully.

The moon isn’t necessary on 6th
at 1400 block
all the street lights are out
except one weak flickering
and one across the street at a Hayward hotel
lighting up the sidewalk where no roots grow
but those that fight up through a neglected crack
and black gum spots
that have lost their bright colors
pretend to take root
because they’ve been there so long
none of these move freely
or softly with the wind
the wind
like other things in life
gets trapped
whips around tall buildings,
I see the results
trash
blowing violently out of crowded sewers
and wire meshed garbage cans
some of it blows wildly lost
some moves with a natural rhythm
but most stays close by
lost
a mass without roots.
I dump the dottle from my pipe
it reminds me of my friend
growing up there
crowded
without roots
blowing wildly lost
taking on color,
the hair-like growths
that supply food
the bring water
have no soil to cling to for support
what is expected happens
he is again crowded
planted in a wooden box
among dark roots,
plots spaced apart like soldiers
while someone offers usless words of comfort.

Adam and Eve poem

I haven't written a poem in about 5 years. Back then, I wrote this wonderful love poem, but it failed miserably. The following is my Adam and Eve Poem.

Our 1st steps

In the first step expectations arise
and we realize our limitations,
the fear of falling
into the parable
of 1 and 2
when he gave her his ribbing,
and they both laughed as they crossed
beyond hope and boundaries,
loosening the boot straps that held them fixed,
the same straps we want to be pulled up by;
it's the same malingering story as before,
that parable about the first step
that first decision
which forced us all into the shit.
What's on your souls then
is the result of the one
that sheds his skin
from the same source of us all,
but whose fault is it?
can all the blame rest on 1 and 2?
And besides, isn't it all a miracle?
To move someone
even a moment in any direction
is the same as moving one 10,000 miles,
and isn't it all from the same source?

The Way to Enlightenment

The idea of a sexual encounter to achieve spiritual enlightenment is amazingly wonderful, and makes so much sense. My memory of reading Siddhartha 20 years ago is somewhat sketchy. All I can recall (so typical for a guy) is that it was important for Siddhartha to have sex. This requirement seems to support whatever carnal seductions I may try to spawn. I believe Siddhartha bedded down with a prostitute. So, that means that there’s something propitious in the sexual act itself, perhaps making the romantic notion of making love more of what it truly is, which is a romantic idealization of the sexual act. But, while reading this one section of The Da Vinci Code I do see how, during climax, one can completely reach the state of wu wei—wherein one is totally devoid of thought. How often have I tried—usually in vain—to reach that ultimate state during meditation, when my mind is completely blank. Having an orgasm is a liberating concept rather than struggling to focus solely on the breath, which is nearly impossible. What a great pick-up-line that would be to tell a woman we should have sex in order to approach nirvana, wu wei, or the middle way, thus emptying our minds and achieving a sense of spiritual purity. What one has to remember is how short lived the male orgasm is, but how reliable it is as well. On the other hand, and more seriously, finding the sacred divine is so arduous. That moment of emptying your mind is so fleeting and challenging that I guess any way one can attain it is worth whatever sacrifice is necessary. That just means in order to experience spiritual enlightenment I’ll have to chica-bow-chica-bow-wow as often as possible.

Taking Care Of Your Soon-to-be-alzheimers Victim

I just moved back to New Jersey after a 25+ year stint in Los Angeles to take care of my mom. I'm not sure what's going to happen in the ensuing months, but one thing is for sure--it's a lot colder in New Jersey during the winter than it ever is in Southern California. Gosh I miss the heat. I almost long for a small forest fire, a mud slide, or that an annoying location shoot would suddenly emerge when I turned the corner to make me feel a little more at home. It is both common place and a little irritating when you’re stuck in traffic only to eventually realize, “Damn they’re making a movie, a commercial or something. Now I’m gonna be late for my appointment.”
One of the most ironic facets of this entire dance with the moribund decay of mom’s mind is that she was so crazed when I was a kid. But I guess now it’s more clinical and acceptable. As a kid, she was so scary that my high school friends would jump out the window when her car slithered in the driveway. Today, kids aren’t remotely as reverent to adults as we were. So, when my mom told us a few years ago that some neighborhood kids talked back to her when she admonished them for swinging on a tree outside her house, we all wondered where their bodies were buried?
Presently, I’m wondering what does one do with another that is only sporadically forgetful? I'm forced to lie and put up a false front. I’m lucky that I’ve created this amiable persona for the past 35 years. Besides, being a caretaker seems to be my forte.