Pisces

Tonight I will sleep
a restless sleep.
and dream of what I've lost.
Tomorrow I will be empty
and for many days to come.
An empty space
that no one else can fill.
That is what you meant to me
but I could never say.

The You and Me

Pale green
is that what you said?
or was it me?
no matter

You are more beautiful today
It must be so, but it was me
I lingered too long
listened too intently

You are more beautiful today
for I no longer see you with my eyes

In Search Of The Virtuous Woman

We called her The Goddess but her name was simply Susan. She was an unassuming and delicate example of teenage femininity. A template for a prom queen without the backseat reputation. She was that girl in the church youth group that could not be tempted beyond the limitations of her faith and moral belief. The constant that made God smile and know that His creation was good. And she was beautiful but not sexy. God's flower. Alluring but incorruptible. Our one desire was to bask in the aura of her virginal innocence...her purity, such was our feelings of unworthiness. In our eyes she was a modern day Delphic oracle or like Remedias The Beauty in that novel where men from surrounding towns would flock to church, not to worship God but to merely gaze upon her face. And like Remedias we suspected that because of what she was, she would never grow old and die, but would instead be lifted up into heaven one day deserting the world that did not deserve her. I was 21 years old and still looking for a girl who could save me...save me from myself, and although I worshiped her from afar I never attempted to express any romantic intentions toward her outwardly. She was an unattainable dream. I never understood how those who managed to actually go out with her could find her "boring."
Tammy was a different story. She was pretty, but approachable. I liked her for her long red hair and ginger complexion. I suppose I was attracted by her girlish-opey- type wholesomeness with that slight mix of nerdishness. It was probably her glasses that created that impression. Tammy was the dutiful Christian girl who was open to new experience but still kept her bible close by as a kind of security blanket and life manual in case of emergencies. I recall how she took to heart a particular message relayed to a teenage congregation from the pulpit of a youth minister one evening. I was there and it went a little something like this. "When you young ladies find yourself in situations where these young men test your virtue, just lay down the word of God, the Holy Bible ...just lay it on the couch or car seat between the two of you and defy him to cross that line. By the time he gets through Matthew, Mark , Luke and John he will understand what you are about." I found it amusing and I also took it to heart but in a different way. Tammy and I went out after awhile and on that first date I decided to be a smart ass. No surprises there.
I spent the early afternoon creating a mix tape of my favorite songs . One side consisting of my favorite fast songs for the trip over to New Orleans and the other side consisting of slow romantic tunes for later in the evening. I also brought my bible and I hid it under my car seat. After the movie we took a short drive over to the lakefront for the stated intention of looking at the Mardi Gras fountain there. My real reason was of course to make out. We walked around for awhile and held hands as we walked. Eventually I mustered the courage to steal a kiss... and it was all downhill after that ... but not right away. When we got back to the car I reached beneath my seat and conspicuously placed the bible between myself and Tammy. Her reaction was not immediately negative but she eventually came to the conclusion that I was mocking her. I suppose that instead of just teasing her I had inadvertently challenged her to break the rule,to be a hypocrite and quickly break the rule...the rule that had been preached from the pulpit. She passed the test and I didn't. I'll never know what would have happened had I not pulled the little stunt and just let things occur naturally, but it never dawned on me that maybe it was she who was giving me the chance to prove that I was a virtuous man. Maybe I had been before...at one time... but at that time...that year...I was admittedly a guy in retrograde rejecting the notion that God could circumvent the sexual drive of women when tested. I ask myself now why I chose to pursue women in church instead of going elsewhere. Eventually I did, but not before I tried a few more times with other girls. Brenda failed the test before I ever got to her, but Marilyn was in a class with Susan the Goddess.
I think back then I was trying to accomplish two things at the same but I just didn't realize it.
One was of course sexual gratification. The other was a little fuzzier and it had to do with my own personal justification for abandoning the moral values I had been taught all my life. I was never looking for true virtue, I was instead looking for the cracks that would shatter the illusion of morality. It was I think more a test of God and Christianity than it was a search for any one virtuous woman. There would be many virtuous women out there but then there was me...a guy in retrograde shaking his fist at God and slamming the church door behind him, eventually seeking morality and sex in bars and pool halls.
I recently had a conversation with a girl at work who, when observing the behavior of a rude woman, stated "that woman needs Jesus, either that or she needs to get laid." Hardly thinking I quickly retorted."maybe she needs to get laid by Jesus." In hindsight I hope God and Jesus, if They are out there, will forgive me. As I said before way back then... I'm just a guy in retrograde

The Sexy Halloween

I'm going to go ahead and say it. Stephen King needs to stop writing. I used to be a fan and devoured his books quickly. I think he's already said every important thing that he had to say about life and death. He writes too damn much and takes too damn long to say what he's already said before a million times. I even bought his book "Danse Macabre" that purported to explain his own personal philosophy about horror. To save you the trouble I'll summarize. We all fear the horrible death and he exploits that fear. He also says that as a child he enjoyed horror movies but that he comforted himself by "looking for the zipper" on the monster. When the monster turned the corner and entered the room he silently assured himself that there was no real reason to be afraid because it was merely a guy in a rubber suit. Okay I get that and I've even done that myself. However, in today's world, special effects are superb and unconfortably convincing in their ability to show us what it would be like to actually suffer that horrible death that King talked about.
We really can't find that zipper anymore. So what do we do? I'll tell you in a minute.
I used to be a freak for horror movies and I sought them out and even bought magazines that canonized classic horror movies and even further introduced me to new filmmakers and their special effects teams. I too wanted to understand how it was done, because the horror...the deaths...were becoming more convincing. Too good and that disturbed me. Eventually I lost interest completely in the horror genre...books and movies....and I dropped them cold. Today I have no stomach for the new horror. It's too much about suffering...too much about pain...too much about torture ... too much about the grand and horrible death. Orchestrated by sadists and sick minds.
Some of you have heard my story about my close friend whose favorite holiday is Halloween. Mark used to host parties for Halloween like other people hosted Christmas parties. Everyone was expected to come in costume and party for at least two days. And he videotaped the entire thing so that he could watch it later. All the drinking, smoking and general debauchery documented for posterity. We had a ball and we laughed at ourselves as we watched the tape.
Who got lucky...who got sick...who made a fool of themselves...who looked scary and who looked sexy. But here's the point. Nobody was scared. We didn't think about fear or death. We made it fun and sexy. Mark owned Halloween. His party was a distraction from the real issues of the season.
Nowadays bars and taverns and nightclubs all do what Mark was doing long ago. They manufacture Halloween distractions encouraging patrons to come on out as naughty nurses, sexy witches, seductive vampires and monsters and any number of new and neutered franchised boogeymen. Although some people appear to cling to the traditional view of Halloween most of us retreat into the fun and sexy category. It's for our own protection. Sexy distracts us from the real and more depressing fact of death. It is our own coping mechanism that allows us to "see the zipper" when in fact there is none. Ultimately that is what it's all about now. As I get older the reality becomes more real. Memento Mori ... we all must die. It's like they say, in the final analysis, . nobody gets out of here alive. Not very comforting but its true. Happy Halloween.

Cardiac Arrest

I am the broken heart
displayed in fragile glass
disenfranchised from the rest
deconstructed and amusing
you are welcome to the pain
and all the open wounds

Circle round the pedestal
and see me from all sides
appreciate the misery
quantify my weakness
estimate when death occurred
so many people to thank

pierced and punctured
defeated by delusion
a monument to stoic scarecrow silence
life abruptly halted
a martyr to the cause
what was the final straw?

I am the crippled heart
protected by surrender
immune to further damage
devoid of further hope
reluctant and afraid
immobile and withdrawn

I am the broken heart
now quiet,still and safe

Hard On for HughesNet : The Big Massage

By all accounts HughesNet isn't that great but I don't care. I won't be subscribing to it because I know the truth, but it wasn't an easy choice, given the fact that Kimberley Joseph is its spokesperson. She is my latest obsession and I hope to be engaged to her in the very near future. What a goddess, and when in her commercial she exclaims, "No Way!", I just get tingly all over. She will be mine, by the gods she WILL be mine...but I digress. Let's talk about Marshall McLuhan for a moment...that media analyst from way back who coined the clever phrase," the medium is the message." He spoke of various media as being hot or cool. Hot media ...like motion pictures... require little cerebral participation, while television, a cool medium requires more. At least that was his assumption back in the day. but things have changed since then or maybe the delineation between the hot and cool mediums has gotten fuzzy and confusing. I mean really...radio,television, video, DVDs, computers, cellphones, PDAs. Christ, we're bombarded by mountains of information that demand our attention and we are often tempted to just disconnect from the persistent and sustained assault on our senses. But McLuhan would later refer to that constant assault by a different name. He altered his previous statement ( the medium is the message) to proclaim that "the medium is the massage" ...a mild state of prolonged hypnosis where we are more susceptible to suggestion and lulled into a state of compliance and conformity to those suggestions. Television is the culprit. I could include the internet but the point would still be made so let's just settle on television for the moment. Today television has become a tool...a tool for political propaganda and more importantly an instrument of the "free market." I know...I know, It's always been a means in which to sell products and services to the public under the guise of entertainment ( and now a word from our sponsor) but it's ability to influence the masses has increased a thousand fold due to the development of the continuous 24 hour broadcast cycle. It is literally on ALL THE TIME.
I am by no means a man of leisure but I watch my share of news and entertainment on satellite television, and I have to say... Repetition is the enemy of a rational man. It is a wolf wrapped in a lamb suit. More to the point, how else can one explain the current phenomenon of buying insurance from gecko lizards, CGI Generals and penguins, and finally a ditzy female waitress in a showroom that resembles a kind of "insurance purgatory." And banks...don't get me started. Banks aren't banks anymore...they're bicycle shops, peddling ( I couldn't resist) home loans, credit cards and financial planning...to get you where you want to be. Honestly, how absurd can it get... and it's all part of the massage.
I learned something a long time ago that has always disturbed me...insurance companies own the world, or at least the good ol' USA. Insurance companies own banks, and banks in turn own businesses...all of them. And banks control budding entrepreneurs and even established corporations by dolling out money under specific terms for prudent use in daily operation and most importantly ...for meeting the demands of employee payroll. Small companies and large corporations alike have a submitted business plan to the bank that hopefully justifies the bank's risk on behalf of the lendee. The bank ( or should I say the insurance company) basically dictates what employees will be paid for their time and work. And here's a little secret that really isn't a secret at all...the cost of labor is always underestimated...underestimated on purpose by the bank, so that real prosperity can never be achieved by the employee. So how do we as the underpaid employees attempt to realize that prosperity? Two words...credit cards. Lines of credit issued by...say it with me...the bank ( the insurance company) Do you see a master plan evolving? Media distracts while political and economic opportunists hoard the money. The perpetual distraction...entertainment, news,politics designed to dazzle and distract the consumer from the dirty truth embedded in our system of free enterprise. The illusion of prosperity is achieved by first holding back fair wages to the majority of workers only to later give that same money back to them...for a price. That price is the systematic and long term enslavement of the average worker to the moneychangers who fix the game. Honestly, elections have become more like draft picks in the NFL from one season to the next and they serve the same purpose...provide the distraction...have winners and losers...but never ever change the basics of the game. We are told by the media that changing the game would be "un-American." I have to ask,"what is so scary about the prospect of a more equitable system that spreads more money around to everyone and not just the friends and families of insurance companies?"
So that's it... enslavement made palatable by the Big Massage. My television is always on, even when I'm not at home. It keeps me company in my now empty nest and it calls to me and tells me what I need...what to buy, what to watch, who to vote for and of course how to feel. Back in the stone age, and by that I mean the 50's, The Flintstones urged us to smoke cigarettes and we never questioned whether they were perhaps just blowing smoke up our ass. We eventually learned the truth. We became more sophisticated and learned to question what we were told.
Today the massage provided by television is slicker and all the more relentless in it's effort to mellow us out, to patronize us and to ultimately manage us. Repetition of a lie. Discover Card tells us that to save money we have to spend money...huh? Apparently using credit cards is a fast track to wealth...but for who? Years ago I read in a magazine about advertising that we, as consumers, accept the lies contained in advertising because the alternative is to be told the truth and that would be to horrible to face. But I'm stubborn...I always look for the lie. No amount of cutesy cartoon animals and whacky characters will convince me to un-see it.
Meanwhile I'll keep listening to Kimberley and her pitch about HughesNet. I understand that it is an excellent internet provider. At least that's what she says. And she wouldn't lie to me would she? No Way.

On The Passing of Walkin' Jim Stoltz

I never met Walkin' Jim Stoltz. I only knew Jim. We got faintly reconnected in recent years through emails but the person I really knew best was but 14 or 15 years old. We were junior high buddies and I will always remember a large poster he gave me at the time that hung on my bedroom wall for years afterwards. It was a black and white poster of the bottom of two bare feet. It was obscure and random and cool, and we appreciated it for those reasons. I looked at it as a simple token of our friendship. Jim left the flatness of Slidell, Louisiana early on to return to his true roots in Royal Oak, Michigan before he could graduate with those of us in the St. Tammany Parish School System. Even then he lamented the lack of freedom to be who he wanted to be, in a system that said long hair was a path to failure . Jim wrote the forgettable "St. Tammany School System Blues" in protest over attempts to make students conform and comply to silly rules designed to stifle self expression. In the Sixties that was being debated constantly by existing power structures and budding hippies. Jim was the latter and when he finally did graduate in Royal Oak he sent me his official senior picture with shoulder length hair as proof that he had prevailed over society's mandated conformity.
I'm not really sure when the compulsion to unite with nature took a hold of Jim. He is quoted as saying it was the Boy Scouts that gave him his first taste of life around a campfire, but Jim visited me in February of 1973 , long hair and all, and it was clear that the mountains of Vermont had seduced him completely. By September of that same year he had quit his job, quit college, bought a new guitar, and, eventually, set off with a girlfriend to go camping in those same mountains. After three months of hiking and camping his girlfriend left him, but he stayed in those mountains without her. He transplanted himself permanently to live and work there, bought his very first car ( a '66 Buick Special) for two hundred dollars and while living with friends in Newport, Vermont he found work in an Ethan Allen lumber yard. Jim tried to find venues ( bars, coffee houses, lodges) to play his music, something he had begun in Royal Oak, but those were hard to find at first. By March of 1974 he had quit his job in the lumber yard ("it's not where I'm at") and planned his first long distance hike (March thru October) of the 2,000 mile Appalachian Trail. Before he left, he cut his hair ( a little) and grew a beard. Surprisingly he left his guitar behind and took only a flute recorder to amuse himself with music. By then he was signing his letters as "Mountain Jim."
His second endeavor began in May of 1975 and ended in November of 1976 walking the length of the U.S.-Canadian border through wilderness from Maine to Washington- a 5,000 mile walk. Jim corresponded with me that year sending me clippings of media coverage he had received along the way and with those letters accounts of the wonderful people he had met and who had befriended him. His stories about the wilderness and the things he saw were both funny and awe-inspiring. Swallowed up by frozen mountain streams, chased by bears...all great stories to be told around a campfire on a cold winter night. It was on this trip that he or someone on some newspaper dubbed him "Walkin' Jim."
It would be easy to make comparisons between Jim and Thoreau and make reference to Frost's "the road less traveled." According to Jim ,"the road less traveled isn't a road at all."
His life was a testament to his passion and that is what impressed me the most about Jim. Nature called him as a steward long before he even realized it, but it became his overwhelming passion once he took that first step into the wild...into the wilderness. And when he came down from the mountains, he was, in his words, "educated." Nature filled him up and eventually overflowed in him. It was this overflowing that created the music, poetry and stories of the wisdom that could be learned from nature itself. It taught him and gave him purpose and everything he did after that was filled with the desire to share it with the rest of the world.
I've never known another person quite like that...passionate and committed to the very end.
His passion was the high country... wind and snow, mountains, streams and limitless sky.
There are many YouTube videos featuring Jim and his music performing at schools and such and I listened to several of them this past week having learning that he was gone. For me it sums up a philosophy that Jim so obviously subscribed to. He sings about the importance of "taking that first step"...and then the next. It is a lesson about faith and confidence and also persistence and commitment.
I mentioned earlier the large poster on my bedroom wall that I got from Jim in Junior High, you know, the bottom of two bare feet, the picture that struck both Jim and me as being so random and cool. I must admit that knowing what I know now...forty years later, it does not seem so random, but it is so very very cool.