Archive for March, 2016

Another day of clanging cymbals, endless news, shrill voices, distraction and confusion.

It’s hard to gather my thoughts.

Inhale, exhale.

Wounded peace, bruised.

I find myself half-remembering Bertrand Russell’s “In Praise Of Idleness”.

Yes, some logic,

aspects ring true.

I take off my shoes, then socks, and appreciate the coolness on my bare feet, refreshing.

Inhale, exhale.

Eyes closed.

External sensory assault temporarily halted.

Yes, if only we could be left to just *be* …

If thinking and creativity were truly valued

the possibilities of human progression through “leisure” time would be infinite.

And what a wonderful world I perceive!

Sigh, then I remember tomorrow’s obligations,

banal and slavish,

I will again be forced to lie and compromise.

Another day, another place, perhaps.

Bruce Springsteen’s mother dances at 90?

Good for her!

Reminds me of ’89,

when Gustav Strauss & I danced,

as the Wall fell.

We were so happy…

as people often are when change is ushered in,

bright promises of something better projected onto the big drive-in screen,

our dreams,

the Hotel Amerika,


endless goodly possibilities,

something along those lines.

Little did we know the reality of the future,

the future the past never leaves.

We went to Salzburg, true, saw Mozart’s Geburtshaus,

and that was as close as we got to a grand Viennese ball.

Hah! The Wall…

Of course, some say The Boss had something to do with the fall,

and it’s true that concert was epic, transformative perhaps,

who can say?

What’s clear, this narrow life snapshot:

Bruce and his mother are still dancing,

Gustav and I not.

Misjudged stroke, or just unfortunate?

fingers stretching but not reaching the wall,

in time.

Never in time.

Replayed over and over again,

the trauma and consequences of one fateful stroke

consume me,

parts and elements of the whole,

separated from the here and now,


even when I wipe my ass…

I keep going much longer than necessary,

distracted and fixated.

My ass bleeds.

I wipe it some more.

I wash my face,

blood too flows from my nose.

Sunshine, wonderful!

Everyone loves sunshine, right?

Sunshine, bright, kids play, adults smile, lines crease their aging faces.

Sunshine bright exposes flaws – see the cracks in the wall (they used to be hidden by darkness!)…

Sunshine dries and punctures everything,

in time, your prized possessions gone.

Sunshine bleaches and fades your cherished memories,

photos in frames turned sepia pallid, then bone, then gone.

Sunshine, we worship you,

we lie on the beach and enjoy the warmth (Oh, yes, and it can lead to skin cancer too).

Sunshine, wonderful?

Forecast, we think, for good.

Tonight we would like to issue a joint communiqué, through space and time, telepathically, quietly and forcefully, in our unique way:

Hey everybody: Merkel is a cancer. It may be a cheap shot, but it’s true, look at Germany suffer. … I heard all about it on a podcast or two.

The beautiful moment,

it came and went.

Hardly had time to smell the roses,

and now they are dead.



no time for bogus meetings,

chit chat.

Chocolate and men,

suck on them and they disappear.

Oh, so that’s it, back to coarseness and vulgarity?

Well, of course, Easter’s over,

taste’s departed

and I feel empty.

Like the great men say:

you gotta go when you gotta go.


No, there is no such thing as an incoherent prayer,

nor the plaintive rantings of an earnest heart.

Listen, read, carefully,

tune out the background noise,

connect the dots,

wade through the confusion,

and maybe you will understand.


If you do, let me know,

I’d appreciate the insight (I feel like I’m stuck on square one).




like a new pair of shoes,

takes time to fit.


Easter Sunday,

Holy day,

Pious, I pray,

mind on the Divine.

It feels good.


And life, the world, people and places,

slap me in the face,

shit and disgrace,

complications and catches,

act to debase.

Later, I laugh when I see my neighbor’s washing line blown down, their bedsheets on the wet, dirty ground.

How stupid of them to hang washing outside, it’s practically still winter, don’t you know?

Well, whattaya expect?

How full of hubris their act of putting washing outside on Easter Sunday … (Have they no respect?)

Sublime, ridiculous, banal.

Yes, we all fall down.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been ranting, pontificating, rambling, not making much sense. I tend to do it when I’m posing…”

“No!” he said emphatically and smiled. “No, you’re the only sane voice I’ve heard all week. Please, keep talking, I like the sound of your voice, it helps me work.”

“Really? When it comes to work, I prefer silence.” She shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, short rapid movements: time to get back into character.

“Okay, right, smile! Now can you cup your breasts? Left hand, right breast, right hand, left… You got it, baby! Excellent! Pout. Mmm Hmm. Yes! Now raise your left eyebrow… *Yes!*…”

No one much talks about the Spanish Civil War these days,


not any more,

and if they do it tends to be with reference to Franco, fascism and Nazi links.

But a reflection on Holy Week in Spain (such tradition, color and reverence!), illuminates the horrors of the other side, the war against the Church.


Utter desecration…

Imagine urination, deliberate, on everything sacred…

Imagine utter violation, utter hatred in overdrive.

Imagine the terror these terrorists wrought.

Imagine burning a church to the ground!

Imagine parodying the Crucifixion!

Imagine torturing and murdering Priests and Nuns!

Imagine crowds (men, women and children) celebrating the sacrilegious orgy of death and destruction, laughing and cheering at the “entertainment”, the spectacle!

Of course, they had their motivations, no doubt, some had reasons for seeking revenge,

but, really,

who but scum would even consider laying a finger upon, let alone raping, a Nun?

Complicated history.

We humans love to destroy what is beautiful.

Lord, help us.

Though I lose time through human folly,

tomorrow there is hope, eternal (I hope).