My opportunity to rant, bitch, ponder and reflect about my past, present, future and the great hereafter. Welcome visitors.
Wednesday, October 27, 2021
Jack The Giant Killer Chapter 2
Tuesday, October 26, 2021
Stroud
I think it was pink...maybe a pale pink. I suppose one could have said it was a blushed red but no matter what it was, it wasn't an organ and that's what we needed. preferably a Hammond B3 with an accompanying leslie speaker. All the heavy bands were using them...Vanilla Fudge, Steppenwolf, Iron Butterfly etc. You get the idea. But Billy convinced us that he and his electric piano would be cool enough and because of his heightened powers of persuasion Billy Stroud became an Azurite and although The Azurites (named for a light blue chemical in David Miller's chemistry set) came and went after about a year (1967-1968), we enjoyed our short lived fame at Slidell Junior High as rock stars. It gave us all a taste of the power of music above and beyond the school marching band.
To my best recollection Bill Stroud didn't exist for me until Junior High. Before that he was just a rumor instigated by the children of the many Texas transplants motivated by the great NASA migration in the early Sixties. Over time I and many others became familiar with his obsessions with ,among other things, Texas A&M, The Civil War, music and ,of course, the automotive oddity that was (is) the Corvair. Throughout junior high and high school Bill was a major influence on the blossoming psyche of the group we called the Great Society. this was the name we dubbed ourselves and "borrowed" from a Texas politician LBJ. It reflected our desire to change the world around us. Ironically , I dare say that in today's world those same people would summarily reject those liberal leaning ideas but that's not really all that unusual. The idealism of youth often disappears with age and is replaced with an assimilation of what "has been" all along. But I digress.
I don't remember what Bill Stroud's father did for a living but I suspect that he had previously graduated from Texas A&M with some sort of engineering degree and as a father passed those aspirations on to his son. I say this because it is no coincidence that Billy persuaded the school band to adopt the Texas Aggies cheer, "Gig 'Em, Tigers!" for our own use. "Gig 'Em"? Really?What does that even mean? And while we're on the subject of nonsense, where did his fascination with the Corvair come from? I'm going to stop short of saying he was a Corvair but I think he identified with the uniqueness of the design. The Corvair featured an air cooled engine in the trunk and that was unique but with this design also came a bad reputation that centered around its instability when making sharp turns or corrections. The Corvair itself became a symbol of poor engineering until a research project at Texas A&M provided test data that disproved that notion. This project was initiated in 1972 I believe , shortly after Bill Stroud began his college career there. Coincidence? Probably, but not emphatically. I never got the chance to ask him. We lost touch after high school, but there is a joke I'm sure he stole from somewhere that helps me remember his sense of humor and the drive he felt to prove himself. On a certain occasion someone made a disparaging remark about the size of his shoes and his size in general and Billy countered with the clever quip, " You need a bigger foundation for a church than an outhouse."
There is no question that Billy influenced the group think within our social group and further in the school band. Bill participated in countless school band functions, Red McIntire's swing band, and early on the yearbook staff. I suspect that teachers and band directors too spent many days rationalizing their admiration and frustration over Bill Stroud. I can still hear the echo of Mr. White screaming at the top of his lungs at the rebellious lower brass section improvising parts led by Bill and still later seeing Mr. White glow with pride as Billy was named student conductor of the band. He was smart and clever, deceptively charming and a major instigator of mischief. Ask Bruce Clement how his Fiat wound up in the interior hallway of the band room at SHS during lunch hour. I think it was a Fiat. It may have been some other wind up clown car contraption but it was a car nonetheless brought inside the building. That demonstrates knowledge, problem solving, planning ahead and resourcefulness all at once. Today we call those things leadership qualities. Back then I'm pretty sure we called it criminal mischief.
If I were to attempt to describe Billy Stroud at age 16-17, I would compare him to Andy Hardy, Mickey Rooney's movie persona from an era that precedes our teenage years mixed in with a little Ferris Bueller from our way post teenage years. Both showed ingenuity in a pinch and a penchant for recruiting help in the performance of the crime... I mean task.
As I said my friendship with Bill ended after high school but I had a colorful history with him in those days. I'm not sure what Billy would say about our friendship during those years but I would call it something on the order of benevolent adversaries almost from the beginning. We shared many of the same interests and unfortunately wanted many of the same things... and people. I will leave it at that. Explain friendship and romance to a 14 year old. I'll give you a moment. The summer of '68 provided me with a lesson in love and friendship and that lesson was given to me at my own birthday party hosted by Billy Stroud on Apple Pie Ridge Road. To be clear, it was a great party. All my friends were there including my love interest at the time. The music was perfect and the gifts were generous. A very nice pool party. I am amazed that I still have two massive birthday cards signed by everyone in attendance on that day. But eventually with the party winding down my girlfriend at the time decided to break up with me as we stood alone outside by the pool. As an adult I suppose I can liken the feeling to going to Disneyland and then finding out your parents are getting a divorce when you get home. One negates the other. The last time I can remember being at Billy's house was months later at the beginning of our first year at Slidell High to work together on a Biology project for the BSCS Pond Study. On the very same electric piano of Azurite fame, Bill and I composed the haunting Biology ballad, "What's It All About, Algae?" My question is, can you ever really know?
Finally, I want to finish my walk down memory lane with a short account of what I think is one of Billy's finest moments as a teenager in training. I never pictured Billy Stroud as a particularly romantic guy. Funny, yes? Intelligent, certainly? And I know just like the rest of us, he passed notes in class often to the dismay of our teachers. In those days note passing was how we kept up to date with all the school drama. In that first year at Slidell High Bill Stroud went that extra mile and wrote ,what I heard through the grapevine, was an honest- to- God love letter to the girl he loved. It wasn't a funny note, it wasn't a whimsical expression of interest. It was a mature, heartfelt confession of love. Now I can tell you as a musician and a romantic who sang many a love song about generic affection , it never occurred to me to try that myself. At the time I remember thinking how sappy it was to "write a letter" of that magnitude that would certainly end in humiliation for him. But that's not how it went down. By all accounts this literary masterpiece melted her heart like a candy bar on a hot summer sidewalk. I don't really want to know the actual contents of that letter from over fifty years ago. It was probably not as eloquent as I imagine. The outcome speaks for itself.
My last conversation with Bill was at a class reunion a few year ago. He entered the room sporting what looked to be a colonel's hat or more accurately a riverboat gambler's hat and he was walking with the assistance of a cane but not relying on it too much. He brought me up to speed on his life telling me about his wife, his kids and his engineering firm. He told me he had seen the YouTube tribute to The Azurites and we had a good laugh at that. He said he was glad to be able to prove he was a junior high rock god to his grandkids. My eventual conversation with him was not very long but of course we touched upon old relationships from days gone by and he quietly confided to me that "she was a hard one to get over." I knew exactly what he meant because ,as I said earlier, we both often wanted the same things.
Tuesday, July 28, 2020
Jack The Giant Killer Chapter 1
He estimated that at their present rate his visitors on horseback would arrive at midday. Meanwhile he made preparations to greet his unexpected quests and offer them hospitality. "Must be tourists horseback riding lost way out here. If nothing else they'll need water," he thought. "Must have taken a wrong turn in Vegas," he joked to himself.
Jack rose up from his chair and scratched his head. “I honestly can’t say that I have but for the reasons I have tried to explain to you already. You guys are freaking me out. You realize that this is a pretty tall tale. You’ve gotta give me a minute to think this thing through.” Jack walked over to the window and looked out into the ever increasing darkness of the desert dusk and pondered the situation now put before him. Chitto and Maska observed him while he stood there silent. Doubt and discernment played back and forth in his head as Jack sought to decide what to do, and finally it came to him.
Chitto and Maska glanced at one another and smiled.
Tuesday, March 3, 2020
In Search Of The Magic Christian

My close personal friend has extended an olive branch to me as it concerns my views on the socio-political climate we all find ourselves in at the moment and so I offer this short treatise in response to him and to anyone else who will consider an opposing statement without shooting me down with ALL CAPS blazing.
First of all , I love living in America although I hear that Venus is nice this time of year...tanning weather for sure. There are certainly some picturesque places that I dream about experiencing but the blueprint for The American Way of Life is by far the best. Freedom, opportunity and limitless avenues for finding love and happiness. It is my home. One of the reasons that this country is so great is because the people in it have the freedom to consider possibilities for improving aspects of living that are troublesome to us all. I've said it before, dreamers have been our salvation. Technological leaps have saved us from extinction through dealing with the wants and needs of humanity. I am thankful for air conditioning, heaters, refrigerators, cars, phones, television, radio, computers and a whole litany of other cool stuff that makes life tolerable and enjoyable. That's a global phenomenon and not limited to the citizens of the U.S however. What sets our country apart from most other countries is our form of government that provides liberty and justice for all with a constitution and a set of laws that allows freedom within those laws. Liberty and Justice are broad concepts though and whether we want to admit it or not, they both come at a premium. More to the point, Money is freedom and money buys justice. I think everyone will agree with me so far. The controversial point though is why doesn't capitalism provide equal access to freedom and the answer is simple. Capitalism is based on the idea of a stratified population of citizens. In other words , the haves and the have nots. The American/ Puritan work ethic in a nut shell is this: Work hard, be rewarded monetarily for your hard work and finally be free. Unfortunately, every good idea that comes from well meaning people gets corrupted by other equally opportunistic people who spoil it for everybody else.
America is broke. It's been broke for decades. The United States Government is so far into debt it can't conceivably ever pay it down. Look it up. That's what I did. It's so humongous that the Federal Government struggles just to pay the interest annually. Here's the part where I tell you that the hopelessly broke Government was created by design. Corporations have thrived with the assistance of public monies and politicians ingratiated by those corporations have willingly enriched themselves through corporate and political connections. The Conservative and Liberal Rich both share the blame for the current state of affairs. Politicians have put the money and the power in the pockets of the Wealthy Elite and they in turn put a little something in the pot for the politicians. Are there any truly sinless politicians in government? I don't know. How could I? The Government is broke and a very small percentage of the U.S. Population owns 95% of the country's wealth. Again, look it up. Research it on your own. Be honest with yourself.
Here's the Truth Bomb. Capitalism did this. Socialism had absolutely nothing to do with it. This ridiculously skewed distribution of wealth was created by a competitive system based on a perceived reward for hard work but only a fortunate few reap that reward. In part I blame the Stock Market and the slick idea of investing instead of working. I recently read an article on money laundering and found out a couple of things. The top legitimate businesses for laundering money are storage units, strip clubs, car washes, casinos and mattress stores. Who knew? Anyway , on a larger scale the top two methods for moving and hiding money among the ultra elite are real estate transactions and the stock market. Mouse clicks...the new Puritan Work Ethic. No sweat equity at all , save the possibility of a Justice Department investigation. Never forget this...Knowledge is Power, but really cool power comes from lots of money. Politicians know it. Corporations know it.
Poverty has no power and lacks freedom. We may argue that some poverty is deserved and some is not. The same can be said about wealth. FU money is freedom in this world. It provides comfort, privilege and power. Who doesn't want that? But "working smart instead of working hard " is not an option for most. That's screwed up too, because worker production in the work force has been steadily increasing for decades but wages have not. Where is all that new money going? Where is the reward for that increase? Many employers have the nerve to answer that question by simply responding this way, "they get to keep their jobs."
Now, what can Socialism offer to spread some of that wealth (aka freedom) to the masses? By the masses I mean me and you and everybody we know. Social programs proposed by the Socialist Democrats talk about free higher education, free healthcare and a higher but modest minimum living wage. The argument against such proposals is that they would bankrupt the country ,but as we know, that has already been done by Capitalism. Obscene Debt that can never be paid. I can only assume that the debt will never be called in and therefore can be ignored. The debt ceiling is not so much a ceiling as it is a sunroof these days suggesting that the sky and the heavens are the new cap on spending. So even if Social programs designed to lift up the majority of our citizenry creates more debt, who cares? The debt ceiling has obviously disappeared for good. They just keep kicking that can down the road. The "Socialist leaning" proposals that we hear everyone screaming about are not unreasonable, but Socialism is a scary loaded word with many implications.
I suspect that the only ones who care are the privileged elite who see their power in jeopardy. Corporations and the very wealthy might actually be expected to cease hiding money and begin to pay taxes and share some of that sweet power with us. I recently watched a video that claimed that the eight richest individuals on the planet would qualify as the eighth largest economy on the globe.
Wealth distribution... a global problem but certainly an American problem that deserves some problem solving.
Socialism and Communism are both demonized by those who are comfortable just being comfortable. They have basic comforts and probably a mortgage and they are satisfied with that.
What most people fear about change is the possibility of winding up with less than what they started with, a reasonable fear because as we all know the Universe gravitates to chaos.
The Family of Man is a dysfunctional one for sure. So many people to hate and so little time. Charles Shultz once said " I love mankind, it's people I can't stand." I agree , but I was raised to believe that all men are children of God and we all eventually share the same fate. So according to religious circles we should care about one another. What has puzzled me most about the fear of Socialism among Christian groups is why they would reject a system that for all purposes portends to establish a kind of Heaven on earth that their God says He wants for all His children. I'm not sure how I personally feel about that myself. Sounds complicated. But instead of embracing a system that would emulate a heavenly alternative the Christian Evangelicals reject it outright in favor of an exclusionary political ideology that encourages inequality and injustice. I personally would love to see how Jesus plans to establish a heavenly kingdom on earth using Capitalism as his template. Evangelical Christians are officially a voting bloc courted to get votes. That's sad really because Christians have traditionally been easy prey for con men throughout their history. Many false messiahs came before Jesus and more recently mega church evangelists buy mansions and jets with parishioners tithes( the prosperity gospel at work.) Political dogma preaches that politics and war are the same and utilize the same method for victory... deception.
Religion and Politics are a bad mix. That's why I am so perplexed by the Evangelical Right's fascination and support for Donald Trump. Make no mistake, I am not suggesting that politicians have to be or should be devout Christians, but Christians collectively have no business supporting someone like Donald Trump. Do your homework and run the numbers. I must confess I took offense at the numerous comparisons of Trump to biblical figures like Saul/Paul , Daniel and even Jesus himself. Internet memes circulated on Facebook by many people who I call friends. Really? Have you lost your mind? Donald Trump is the worst kind of con man, a self centered narcissist with a gangster swagger borrowed from a 1930s mobster movie and you fail to see through the facade. I can only assume my friends and others are victims of a vast political conspiracy spread by subliminal mass hypnosis through digital media. Spoiler alert! There are two trigger phrases "Perfect Phone Call"and "Stable Genius".
Socialist, Communist, Progressive, Liberal, Capitalist, Fascist. Easy labels for complex issues and very easy to throw around when an individual or a group want to discredit another. Peter Canellos of Politico.com writes about FDR and his disdain for the Socialist label his critics tried to hang on him. His New Deal policies were a solution separate from any single ideology as far as FDR was concerned and he shunned the label. Canellos suggests today that Democrats should do the same.
Give their platform legitimacy by emphasizing the problem and providing specific solutions without accepting the label. No one today can argue that where others failed, FDR succeeded.
Politics is forever a game with a gang mentality. Nobody snitches, nobody admits to the crime because their collective survival is at stake. And we the voting public are drawn into their rumble pitting us against each other.
So why is the new generation embracing ideas that have been previously rejected as a threat to our way of life? I think it's partially because they see the traditional work ethic as phony. The Rich have inherited the earth and the Meek have paid the bill. This is what we have handed down to our children. Maybe we owe it to them to give some scary ideas a new look and consider the possibilities without accepting a wholesale label. Maybe we need to let them find their own FDR.
Wednesday, October 30, 2019
Karl's Shift
Karl Tyler met a horrible death. His body was torn to shreds and his bloody limbs were strewn from one end to the other on aisle 6 of Dean's Family Grocery Store. There are things you need to know. Karl was 29 years old when he first walked into the store where he would work as stock clerk on the overnight shift for the next 6 years. Physically he was a tall burly fellow with longish, unkempt hair stuffed under a tattered black baseball cap most of the time. His face sported glasses that rested on the bridge of his nose cocked slightly down on the right. His spectacles left an impression of confusion more than intelligence. The acne on his cheeks and chin was hidden by remnants of a once healthy beard that was never completely shaved clean. He worked alone stocking grocery shelves and fronting and blocking displays in preparation for the store's opening the next business day. Karl worked the "zombie shift", a dismal 11:00pm till 7:00am schedule that never allowed for a normal life of the individual who worked it. The zombie shift was life turned upside down and backwards in contrast to most normal people. He slept while others worked and worked while others slept. The work that Karl did was satisfying for a while. He was content working unsupervised and unbothered by small talk and the mindless chatter of others. For a while the silence was soothing and satisfying for someone like himself. A loner who had no patience for the input of others, a solitary man who had no need for companionship and human interaction. The zombie shift was so named for this reason. The person who did this kind of work became a walking corpse of sorts. No friends, no contact with the others save the brief encounter at the punch clock. Living only to perform a repetitious, mindless and unrewarding task virtually every night of the week. Karl did this faithfully and dutifully for 6 years. It was Karl's shift.Some time after the anniversary of his first year Karl got into the habit of talking out loud to himself and eventually it developed into full blown conversations in nightly solitude referring to himself in the third person and often contradicting himself in a schizophrenic-like debate. Talking to one's self is not a crime and is actually more common than most people would care to admit. Some claim, in jest, that this habit is an indication... a red flag per say, for the onset of madness. In Karl's case however no one ever knew. It occurred unwitnessed, unnoticed by anyone other than Karl himself. Karl slipped into madness on the 3rd of October of his 6th year of employment at Dean's Grocery. His mind snapped without fanfare or acknowledgement. He retreated into a fantasy world. He sunk deeper into darkness.
Oddly enough, Karl still delivered, still performed his work with amazing regularity. His insanity provided Karl with companions that mirrored his own broken life, his own dark cynicism and disgust for his hopeless existence. They were voices posing as individuals allowing Karl to discuss his frustrations about life, why things were the way they were and what he could do to set things better. Karl debating Karl. A sounding board in a mirror. Seeing both sides but accepting neither conclusion. It had become a nightly chat with himself while he coolly and calmly filled and blocked and faced with perfection.
On the night in question Karl was performing this mundane routine when a noise on a nearby aisle broke the silence in the building causing Karl's senses to rise to alert status. He stopped what he was doing and paused to figure out where it had originated from. Maybe a box or package had been teetering on a shelf all day and finally reached the point of no return... finally dropping to the floor with a non-descript thud. Maybe.
Karl discerned that the disturbance emanated from aisle 6 where pet supplies and dog chow could be found on one side and laundry detergents, fabric softeners and household cleaning supplies on the other. Karl ambled slowly over to the area that he determined would reveal the source of the disturbance. He arrived at the end of the aisle and planted himself solidly in the middle of the midway and peered down the length of it. He waited and his eyes darted back and forth as he quietly scanned the shelves for movement of any kind. But nothing raised an alarm. All seemed normal on aisle 6. Karl cautiously moved down the aisle looking left and right mumbling to himself in the process.
Keep it together Karl Come out, come out wherever you are, he chanted. You better not stick around. I don't take kindly to pranksters or burglars! The declarations weren't made expecting any answer. Past the cans of chicken purees and rice, boxes of kibble, smells of grains and canine and feline cereals on one side and fragrances of bleach, detergent and exotic granules from laundry fresheners and sheets of fabric softeners on the other. He was met with uncomfortable silence The faces of happy pets with canine and feline smiles lined the shelves. The image of a wholesome young woman with a modest red sundress and Spring bonnet adorning her head and curls that fell softly on her shoulders gazed back at Karl displaying her satisfaction with the fresh outdoor fragrance that her fabric sheets provided.
Obviously he was alone and as he made that final determination he turned an about face around and stared back down the aisle he had just surveyed. To his surprise and dismay he was confronted by a large panting hound with saliva dripping from its mouth sitting squarely in the middle of the aisle in a crouched position. Karl reacted by stepping back suddenly to make sense of the hulking animal staring back at him with threatening red eyes. That alone was a shock but then the unwelcome visitor spoke emphatically to Karl, not with barks or growls or with bow wows, but with words. "Evening Karl, running a little late aren't we or maybe I'm just hungry and you're just moving too damn slow."
It was important for Karl to keep a cool head under the circumstances. After all even in his current state he still questioned his senses and debated with himself whether there was indeed a talking dog chastising him for "moving too damn slow." Karl collected his thoughts and timidly responded.
"What...what did you say? How did you get in here? The doors are all locked, and even if they weren't, dogs aren't allowed inside." Karl asked reasonable questions but the large dog would have none of it. " That hurts Karl, after all, I live here. as a matter of fact I was here long before you ever arrived. Hell, I remember the guy before you. What was his name ?"
Karl seemed puzzled, "what...you're asking me? Wait a minute. I know you. You...you're the dog on the Doggy Delights box." He paused and pointed, "right over there." The canine turned and acknowledged the row of Doggy Delights displayed a little farther down the aisle. "Not a good photo I must admit, but still I think you see my point. and the name is Max by the way"
Karl was attempting to absorb what was going on around him while identities were being sorted out. "Max was the guy before me?" he asked. But before the dog could respond a voice from behind him spoke. "No, he's Max... you know, like Max is a good boy. No, the guy before you was Chuck." said a sweet feminine voice out of nowhere. Karl turned around to see who it was and he immediately recognized her but at the same time , he didn't believe it was happening. "Wait...hold on here," he said slowly. "You're the girl on the fabric softener bottle. I recognize that dress and the bonnet. But how?"
"Lily is my name, Karl. We've known each other a long time. As a matter fact, you've known all of us for a long time." The one named Lily moved closer and Karl noticed the smell of lavender and rain as she passed by. "And Karl, you asked how its possible and its really quite simple. You've done a fine job up until now. A really fine job but, lets face it, you're losing it." she said in a friendly clinical way. Karl looked confused. "I'm...losing it?"
"You're insane, Karl. Out of your mind dear boy. We've all noticed it. And how else could this conversation be taking place? We've taken a vote ...all of us ...me, Max, Tony, Lucky and the Cap'n."
Karl struggled to keep up with what she was saying. "You're not making sense. This can't be real!"
Karl stood there with his hands over his ears as if trying to block out the nonsense, but it was too late. Around the corner of aisle 6 emerged a group of characters all approaching in a menacing fashion and Karl knew them all. In front was a cartoon-ish naval officer with a respectable white moustache dressed in a puffy blue and white uniform and sporting a blue admiral's hat. There was no mistaking who it was....Cap'n Crunch. Behind him was a large brightly colored orange and white Tiger ...Tony the Tiger by name. Coming up from the rear was an outlandishly dressed leprechaun wearing a sparkly green coat and matching bowler hat riding atop a multi-colored pastel unicorn proudly advancing. "Thank you all for coming. The unicorn is a nice touch, Lucky!" said Lily.
Lucky hopped down from his unicorn and walked over to Karl looking him over carefully.
"Too bad, Karl." he said," Up until now its been just magical... and delicious too. But we can't wait until you fall apart." Tony, looking a little disappointed spoke up too. "Yeah Karl...you've been Greeaat! At least you're going out on a high note. Its best for everyone."
"Could I say a word, Karl?" Cap'n Crunch cleared his throat and stepped up to Karl. " You know Karl, life is short, at least that's what everybody says. But what do I know? I'm an imaginary character at best, so technically I have no credibility here. Let me just say that, in my opinion you're not really living anyway so why delay the inevitable?"
Karl listened intently and finally sat down in the middle of aisle 6 with a look of resignation on his face. The group of visitors drew closer and with every step they changed somewhat in appearance.
Max, Lily, Tony, Lucky and the Cap'n showed claws and fanged teeth and glowing red eyes.
Karl cried out as he realized their intent. "But you're not real!" he screamed.
The last thing Karl heard was a somber phrase. "At least I'm a captain. What are you?"
Karl fainted and never woke up.
Dean's Family Grocery carried on without Karl. The mess of his death was cleaned and sanitized and the mystery of what had happened remained a mystery, but the gossip died down and a permanent replacement was found for the so-called zombie shift. Some guy named Larry. He learned the ropes, just as Karl had, without much thought of it being a permanent job. Maybe a stepping stone to something better. Meanwhile on those lonely solitary nights from 11:00 to 7:00 , Larry made his way down the aisles doing his duty...fronting, blocking and facing as Karl had done before him. The routine would be new for awhile but that would surely pass. Maybe Larry would someday take a closer look at his surroundings and eventually familiarize himself with the items on the shelves of every aisle in the store. If he by chance took the time to closely peruse the many varieties of breakfast cereals available for consumption, he may notice a new variety setting on the shelf. A recent addition.
A bright red box of corn flakes mixed with a medley of puffed rice, raisins, strawberries, blueberries and nuts ...and who knows what else. The front of the box features the face of a sparsely bearded smiling man sporting a black baseball cap and wearing glasses that cocked slightly down on the right.
Thursday, June 6, 2019
The Hole In Heaven

"The event that humanity had long anticipated with equal consternation and joy occurred unannounced and unexpectedly on the 17th of June in the year 2019. The arrival of countless disembodied spirits of long dead relatives, friends and historical figures great and small from the beginnings of recorded time occupied the ether of the globe and its skies. Ancient and alien creatures long dead and beasts yet to be, drifted silently half transparent and barely carnate above the cities, mountains, plains, valleys and over the vastness of the oceans and the seas. This event...this overflow of spirit into creation, and more specifically upon our world, happened with little notification from the cosmos itself. We did not understand immediately. It began as an anomaly in space. A slight quiver in the gravitational pull of what our scientists used to call the monster black hole in galaxy NGC 1277 in the constellation Perseus. An observation... It was a sign of what was to come, both beautiful and horrifying and monumentally staggering in its implications. Nothing malevolent in the beginning but something that quickly transformed into an event that most would expect from divine heavenly hosts of angels preparing the earthly masses for the arrival of their God. Amazing at first as an expanding spectacular celestial light show, it became a gut wrenching sickening experience that some interpreted as the end of time itself, a collective realization that all regrets and revelations had come to fruition at last. But it wasn't... and as it happened in its finality it gave answers to questions that humanity had grappled with since its inception eons and eons before. The gushing forth of consciousness from this hole in heaven into the realm of the corporeal finally provided the answers to questions we had craved for thousands of years
We came to understand that all of our mythology explaining the great mystery of what our Creator was and had been, was false and merely manipulation of men by other men throughout our history.
For the living , the apparitions described a version of the afterlife...the other side and the true nature of existence that no one had considered. Every possibility of consciousness all past, present and future released back onto the physical plane and allowed to partially reincarnate into all it had ever been, all at once. Every version of every individual who ever existed or would exist...their knowledge demolished, shattered all perceptions of God and Heaven and Hell. The Heavenly Father was gone and with Him all concepts of a human savior or ancient enemy of mankind. They no longer made sense.The idea of God as a deity that demanded worship was a misconception constructed by unenlightened souls and opportunistic beings struck ignorant from their separation from their places in the eternal consciousness.This we understood now.
The Black Hole , or the Hole in Heaven as it was eventually dubbed was merely and fantastically an aperture, an Einstein bridge of sorts separating the material from the thought...the discarnate from the carnate. It was a holding pen for the entirety of what we now know as the original consciousness. The intelligence that existed eternally and the originator of the physical universe itself. Out of this outpouring from the hole we sensed an overwhelming regret from the consciousness itself conveyed to us all. We could call it God but it was cognizant of the flawed creation it had conceived itself. All of humanity had been and would be pieces of that consciousness and we were all responsible for its existence. What some had referred to as The Holy Spirit was this entity and it indeed was accesssible to us all through our eternal connection to our larger self. We could call it prayer if we wanted to because the connection could provide enlightened perspective. And if we wanted to believe in sin we had to acknowledge that our only sin was regret as accessories in the creation of the inferior material world that separated us from the eternal perfection that was the singularity itself. Pure love corrupted by flesh, intellect perverted by greed, mischief grown to cruelty, wisdom watered down by physical need...all opposite of what spirit had anticipated at the moment of inception of the material.
What had prompted this release? It was a flaw in a flawed design, a weakness in the wondrous creation left to itself that inadvertently allowed the overflow to take place. And it was soon to be undone and resealed . In the days that followed the revelation, mankind pondered the truth of all existence and it made choices based on all that it now knew. Our fate...our collective destiny without fear, without pain, without judgement awaited us in the void.
Globally, millions upon millions chose to end their lives and reunite with Spirit ending abruptly the struggles and unhappiness of the material world. They understood it for what it was for them... an inferior existence compared to what awaited us all. But what may have been more wondrous or more miraculous was that many chose to stay.... holding out for hope and reluctant to abandon the flawed creation. It was no surprise that the wealthy and the powerful chose not to leave. The privileged saw no reason to hurry given how they had grown in stature outside of consciousness....outside of the collective one in favor of the mine.
There is beauty in the world... and goodness. We ,the remaining, realized the significance of very specific and small things that, although acknowledged in Spirit, would lack power separated from our physical senses. There is value in the material. To touch...to feel, to see and hear the beauty in this broken cosmic creation. But it was but a whisper ...a glimpse of the beauty from wherein it was derived.
Spirit gave pause in its decision to close the aperture once again, for in its transcended state it
acknowledged the effect of time on memory and humanity's predilection for re defining the truth to suit its own immediate need in the carnate world. Humanity would comprehend and assimilate this accidental epiphany for now but over generations the truth would again become confused and revert to the state it had been previously before the outpouring in this Hole in Heaven. Wars would again erupt. Hatred and violence would be reborn as new generations wrote their own eclectic versions of the origin and meaning of life. In this way the unity and understanding given to us by this consciousness...this spirit, would be lost. The Hole In Heaven would become an event half remembered and half translated into a fictional mythology as before. It will be a story full of supernatural creatures, jealous gods, divine wars
and fearful obedient sheep praying to and worshiping their God.
Tuesday, December 11, 2018
Bondage
my everlasting sorrow
draped about my shoulders
a cruel razor across my pale skin.
A compromise of trembling flesh
where crimson trickles from the wound
Blood mingling and merging with tears,
one flow indistinguishable from the other.
A smothered heart and gasping breaths
If love could die then I could live
But love endures at my expense
and passion stands immortal.
Against all reason, I long to resist a haunting futility.
A whispering bondage, an ever present pinprick
A quivering cloak...invisible, wrapped light about me
and at my feet, desire collected.
Relentlessly swimming in a magnificent pool of pain.
If there is no you, there is but a ghost of me.
The new day ensures my suffering.
It always will be so.


