slo gin

"sometimes a single word will jog a torrent of memories."

some things jog memories
He left my world
forged his own
one that I touched the fringes of

when I was a little boy,
he took me to work
I thought it was the big city.
a busy street
a bustling office.
I remember looking out the window, on a summer's day
when he showed me a portion of his world
away from my small town
his work.
showed me the teletype printouts
the slide rule he used.
I remember the day he brought home the slide rule.
it was an amazing device.
performed complex arithmetic calculations on a ruler
I didn't understand, but I was amazed.

he left
tears on my mothers eyes.
an end to a bad, sad marriage.
I never really new the significance of separate beds.
though, I still remember a time before,
the time I walked in on them
both asleep on their stomaches
sleeping after an afternoon fuck
I'd walked in their bedroom
and quietly turned around, realizing without knowing
that I'd intruded on something different.

our new house
we owned the house
the G.I. bill...He got the loan
and we moved from our small rented place.
the place where he slept on a roll away bed
in the alcove in the upstairs hall
and She slept downstairs on the couch.
that house, I hated to leave
didn't want to leave my girl friend Jackie
who kissed me because I got a homerun
in minor league baseball game.
the 8 to 11 year old league
and her kiss was moist and fresh
exciting even to a prepubscent boy

I cried when we moved
from the downtown end of main street
to the uptown end
the downtown end
the very end
of main street
right next to the tracks

across those tracks
the white poor
and some excitement
young fantacies with girls
pretending nakedness
pretending bare tits
I grew a little that day

I stood on those tracks
(he's from across the tracks)
I found out about a boy, whose name
was King
not his nickname
I can recall that day,
we scoured the neighborhood, knocking on doors
"do you have any empty pop bottles you want to get rid of?"
we collected a load of bottles
and returned them to the neighborhood grocer.

Stores that you don't see anymore
no foodliners in those days
no super K-Marts, Super Wal-marts
just ma and pa
we cashed in the bottles for the 2 and 5 cent deposits.
today...it's throwaway plastic
throwaway glass
back in the day
we already had recycling
5 cent deposit on quart bottles of pop

King and I
we divided the money
not much. enough for penny candy
but King surprised me
he didn't buy candy
he bought a loaf of bread
"I'm going to give it to my mom" he said
that jolted me
and I realized without words being said
my 11 year old brain
about his poverty
poorer than my family
his house across the tracks


the tracks that I moved from
moved away from midnight train whistles
away from black Chessie, who used to hold the stop sign
holding back traffic from crossing the tracks
as heavy fast freight trains passed by
rail road crossing with no gate
just Chessie Thornton directing the traffic
yes. I moved from the tracks
leaving King
and Jackie's kisses

to move uptown to our own house
no more rentals
and it was a fine house
150 years old
civil war era home, lived in by Mr. Wells himself
and He had bought it with his World War II G.I. money

I admired the fine hardwood cupboards
the old gaslight
the vintage hardwood floors
the very floors my friends and I wore off the finish
wore off by dancing shoes.
nightly dance parties, with Rick playing 45's on his record player
that record player that he'd carry.
it was suitcase sized.
no boomboxes in those days.
Just Rick, and his record player, and his spindle of 45's
soul music
and we danced and danced
mom away at the Eagles with my stepdad
and teenagers
smoking Kools and drinking Strohs
and fucking in the garage

but this was after
after the time when He was still here
after the time I saw the tears in Her eyes
after He took his clothes out to his used car
packed his things
and left for good

she divorced him
she left him
she forced him out.
left him even before he was gone
"so, you were out with your mom's boyfriend today?"
and I didn't know what to say
didn't know how to answer
standing in his bedroom
their bedroom
with the separate beds
so long since I'd seen them naked
in their double bed
years ago

And I lived a life he never new
it was so long to me.
but only a few short years to Him
and he forged a life of his own
never bothering to reach out to his children
never ever visiting

and I sought him out
found him in that artsy crowd
the actors and playwrites
and I entered into that world
I brought my highschool friends with me
into His world
of art

I remember the cast party
rubbing elbows with the local talent
the small town actors
I remember the party
I remember the slo gin

© 2008 Marc Mccune

Door To Blue

a slow walk, across a burning bridge
wondering how to get back
to where the grasp was solid
to where the embrace was felt.

now High Days are approaching
yet misty, smokey,
I touch with my mind,
laying alone on a bed of yearning

my original face
I was starting to recognize it again
after so many years
my original life
emerged alongside her's

now this path, going through a
door to blue

My Truest Best Friend

11:30 a.m. I have had seven and a half hours of sleep. Good Saturday morning. Time for coffee and a toasted bagel. Watching the coffee drip, drip into the glass pot, waiting as the perculation slows, drawing to a finish. I get one of those memories. The kind that I don't normally conjure up. But at the spur of a moment, it pops into my mind, clear as day.

I'm scrubbing, scrubbing. Standing at the utility sink in my childhood friend's father's hardware store, I'm laboring to get the pot clean. "Man, this is one dirty coffee pot." My job on that morning, to make the coffee as we prepared for a morning of squirrel hunting. Doug stepped into the room. "Man, Doug. This pot is really filthy. I can't get all of this crusty old coffee off of the sides of the pot."

His face aghast, "My Dad's gonna kill you!"

"What?"

"He NEVER washes that pot! It's 'sposed to be like that. Crap, let me look. He doesn't allow anyone to clean that pot. It makes the coffee taste better."

He looks. There is enough residue left on the insides of the old perculator that he is somewhat relieved. "Maybe he won't look."

I thought I was holding up pretty well. Actually I was in a kind of shock. At the funeral home I brought my wife. We approached the casket as soon as we had arrived. Doug didn't look the same. He had endured a massive head injury, a motorcycle accident without a helmet. He lay there in repose, dressed in a suit and tie. Doug was like me, hardly one to ever wear a suit and tie. After paying respects, I crossed over the room to his mother Mary, sitting, surrounded by friends and relatives, giving consolations. When she saw me, she reached for me as I knelt and hugged her. And the tears began to flow like a flood. The emotion finally engulfed me and I shook with grief and cried like a baby on her shoulder. We held each other a long while, weeping, but not saying more than a few words. Our grief melded into each other's

Mary had been much of a mom to me for the amount of time I spent at Doug's house. His name was actually David, but everyone called him Doug.

"The nuns call you David in school," I asked. "but why does your family call you Doug?"

"They call me Dug because I used to dig a lot when I was little", he smiled. Somehow I didn't believe that reason.

We went to the same Catholic School together. Immaculate Conception. Whenever the kids from the public school would ask what school I went to, I never said "the Catholic School". I always answered proudly, "Immaculate Conception".

"What's that?" They didn't know the term. Then I'd explain to them about the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus.

Doug was a free spirit. He introduced me to skateboards back in 1966. Sidewalk surfing. Seventh grade. Slot car racing. And girls. The girls in his neighborhood was so pretty. I began to hang out with Doug at Debbie's house. It seemed that his whole neighborhood hung out there. He introduced me to his summer friend Mark from California. Mark was a surfer. He had that sun bleached blond hair, and a real electric guitar. A Sears Silvertone. The kind that came with the case that also was an amplifier. That year Doug's parents bought him the same kind of guitar. Black and white silvertone with single silver bar pickup. A real nice jangly sound. Good for Beatles or Beachboys music. Doug brought me into his proposed rock band...The Surfers. We weren't really a band. Doug was the only one who had an instrument. But the thought of being a rock star back in the 60's was overpowering.

Mary and her sister Sylvia were staunch Catholics. You cold always see her at morning mass every day. Sitting over there on the left with all the other old Italian women and Nanas. She was a new kind of Catholic, long before the term became vogue. A "Charismatic" Catholic. She'd gone to a Kathryn Kuhlman healing service and received what she believed was a miraculous healing for a problem with sciatica. I remember her witnessing to me, at age 11 or 12, telling me the glories of Jesus and faith healing. At that time, it was a little scary to hear. I mean, I was already a faithful Catholic, going to the Catholic school. Mass every morning before school. Frequent confessions and holy communion. But Mary had this Jesus that was beyond the typical Catholic Jesus.

The summer before eighth grade, I worked at the carnival with my other friend Steve. I worked for three weeks, and made half of the money I needed for my own new electric guitar and amplifier. My mom and step dad kicked in the rest of the money. Mine was a Harmony, wood-grained single pickup electric. Shiney chrome metal, I was elated. And I didn't know how to play a note or even how to tune it. It was Doug who taught me how to tune my guitar.

Doug and I were inseperable. If he walked to my house, he'd have his guitar strapped on, slid across his back like some kind of archer's quiver. I did the same when I walked to his house. It soon became common to see us walking the streets of Wellsville, with our guitars. I remember the first time he called me on the phone to play the guitar.
"Here, listen to what I learned today," He played and the sound of the guitar was clear, loud and bright coming through the phone.

"How'd you do that?" I thought he'd hooked up his phone somehow to the amplifier.

"Simple, I just bend down, with the phone touching the guitar. I hold the phone between my ear and the guitar. The vibrations from the guitar go into the phone".

Brilliant! I thought. I began to do the same thing. And we would sit on the phone for hours, playing the guitars together. Teaching each other new guitar licks. It was mostly him showing me.

Going into high school, I started to hang out with a different crowd than Doug. I got in my own band. I'd surpassed Doug in guitar playing prowess. Doug began to hang with "The Fellas", a different group of friends than mine. But he was always in the background.

He disapprovingly wondered about me, getting into drugs, turning into a hippie. I went through a whole other life, through LSD, esoteric religions, then back to Jesus. It was only a few years, but it sure feels like a lifetime had passed between us. Then when I was eighteen years old, I became a "born again" Christian. Somehow I convinced Doug and our other friend Mark T. to go with me to Cleveland, to hear Billy Graham preach. While at the Crusade, Doug and Mark answered the invitation and we all went to the front, to pray the sinners prayer. I was happy that Doug, too, had met a Jesus that was beyond the typical Catholic Jesus. But in later days, the conversion didn't stick with Doug. He drifted off in another direction. He joined The Gladiators, a local motorcycle gang, grew his beard and hair long, wore leather and jeans and his colors, and rode a Harley Trike. I went off and joined a religious cult.

After Three years of wandering the country, I called my mom to tell her I was coming back off the road. She was delighted. The first thing she told me was that "Doug became a Christian". That was a big consololation to me. I came off the road an emotional and spiritual wreck. And Doug was there to catch me. He still looked like the biker I'd left. But his spirit was gigantic with love and friendship. He took me into his circle of friends. He took me to his church. And Mary smiled widely to see her son and his best friend back together. Now again, I would spend hours with Doug. This time, at his own house, drawn into his family life with his wonderful wife and his new son.

Doug was my best friend. And I miss him.

I dry my eyes. My coffee is ready.

no, not, cannot

can't
it is not easy
not happy
no ease for adjustment
no place to put my feelings
except here in this heart

no release
only the way these words bleed
out of this hole
it feels so fucking final
more final that I thought

I say I will
but I can't
let it be
more like
let it bleed

So the words flow
the ones she hates to see
the words that are
a poor reflection of me

sudden hole

Sadness that starts to sink in, like pain that hits after a
deep cut, when you didn't quite feel it at first,
but then realization sinks in, of how painful this really is.

Weeks of watching and waiting, not hearing or seeing;
then wondering and surmising.
Self doubts and a mind full
of searching for reasons why.

then being served up sorrow, and confusion.
creates questions of how, and why.

As if all had been forgotten,
like the sparkle was lost,
as she once said it could be
like the passion ebbed,
and what is left is this aloneness
back to square one.

but I don't show her how sad;
even though I tell her it is,
everything is not fine

but this hole that is left
when everything has stopped.
it is not a sudden hole,
it was in the making for a while
with quietness and withdraw
with non-communication and too much space,
with drawing back and an arm's length touch

Blossom

she gives her flower, arching against these finger tips.
parting her petals, to reveal the heat
the touch of her honey, upon this tongue,
there, in the midst of the ultimate reveal.
full blossom, with depth
enfolding, holding
the bond, complete.

for a shadow of her smile

whether you really know it or not
you still, after all this time
capture my life.
Whether you thought you wanted it
or realized such would happen,
here I am enthralled by you
waiting for you
to pass by, look this way

in between open spaces of longed for kisses
body touches and embraces,
the only thing I can give you
are finely worded thoughts
that I hope you will read
and wanting the same from you,
wondering if you see my mind
and my heart, in the very same way;
Without assumptions on my part
am I belaboring something taken for granted?
you or me?

I'm afraid to hang my words in that public place,
to show that I am the one who feels you special,
that it is MY heart that is held and loved by you.
How can I tell the world? How can I ever let them know?
but afraid that my slightest misstep
could be an indiscretion
And that with fear of such
you will not respond.

Not to disclose to the world
that even your anonymous self is involved
they don't know.
just you
and me

ticket to write

some times, artistic, carefully constructed
at others, it flows from mind to the paper

some times a struggle to explain and define
other times just wide spaces, in between the lines

at times with care and concern of what you may think
but then wild abandon when these words are for me

i guess i changed my mind. . .

no floods today
haven't been any for a while
no streams

easy against the difficult
caught in a cliche
rock and hard place
The easy. . . do nothing
the hard. . . persevere

the things of others...easy?
my own, the difficult

even these very words
like mining
like panning
picking up
then tossing
not finding very many to keep

and then,
many will see
the veneer
only touch the top
never the buried bulk
of what's inside
me

©2007  Marc McCune
["Stream of Consciousness" was painted by Susan Dupor, a deaf artist from Wisconsin.]

yet a little slumber

he's left wreckage in his wake
looking back on years of
acting the grasshopper
not much like the ant
looking back on what's squandered and lost
because of neglect and sloth.

Even having known the wisdom,
of a little of the folding of the hands to sleep,
yet like the fabled ostrich
head in sand
he laid waste to his increase
and neglected his seed.
laid waste with rust and dust.

so much more

Grocery store coffee shop
Lakeshore walk and talk
jazz at the Green Mill
punk rock at Delilah's
making love on the Beach
kisses in the forest preserve
an awesome 80's prom
long drive, holding hands
then miniature golf near the river
sensual swims, kisses and bites in the jacuzzi
mexican with ice cold margarita tongue
pizza and smoke and wonderbar blues
incognito jazz at Katerinas
steamy car window love, with slam poetry,
then running in the cold,
unexpected $300 towing fee, which was worth it
music at Schubas and Martyrs
dancing at Excalibur.
and much more in between the lines

did I mention. . .

did I mention that I love her?
talking on the telephone
and she's making me smile
vibrating that place

surely God has made a big mistake

surely God has made a big mistake

For some reason, the woman's beautiful hair must be hidden
the eyes of others must not see her
nor her skin, or her shape.
tent like sheets cover, from head to toe.

This feeling in my loins,
this hunger in my skin,
I'm not supposed to enjoy it.
she mustn't touch my firmness
nor I her wet softness.
we surely can't, caress or arouse.
cover it up, don't let the nipples show
keep her skin from my skin
repress the feeling.
But it is too natural and right to be wrong.

The natural course of things,
the normal path of nature and the world
something is not right.
What's the reason for the famine, disease, drought and war?
We must worship and sacrifice.
human blood for God
to appease the almighty
to change his mind and ease his wrath.
first fruits for spiritual favor

deny the rainbow colours of existence
hide the creation and glories of life
for surely we can't know...can we?
surely God has made a big mistake.

© 2007 Marc McCune

Saturday night thoughts

I see you from afar
     but I can't touch you.
I see you but you can't see me,
     and my heart runs.

even though my tongue doesn't
     always have words to speak,
my arms ache to hold you,
     my lips to feel your kiss

and though this cold winter
     weathers these bones
my memory is warm with
     the thoughts of you
          those very special times with you.
               and always, as ever, wondering where you are.

© 2007 Marc McCune

bonsai forests

Sitting, sipping
   coffee is extra good this morning

Looking at bonsai forests
   intrigued by the delicate stands
   in miniature

Relaxing in the day,
   my sense of well being
   unanxious and carefree

Thinking of you, wondering where you are
   how you are

Engulfed with a longing
   that I've not felt for many months
   you know the one,
   the feeling that wells up in your throat
   the one that vibrates.

Consumed with a longing
   wondering where you are

© 2007 Marc McCune

eXtreme

a new friend is writing
telling the world his story
he is digging deep down
bearing all for the world to see.

He is bringing us, his new friends
along on his journey
from his childhood
through adulthood
into his very neighborhood

and today I looked through his window
his story, so raw and naked
so brave and revealing.
his latest chapter, story not finished
but with power, reflected back at me

reflected back to my own life
thoughts and memories buried long ago.
but not forgotten.
Just pushed out of sight
behind an opaque mask,
the one that you all see.

today, shaken and stirred
to the core
to blink away tears
pushing it all back down
into the old hiding place
that is still somewhere inside me

© 2007 Marc McCune

© '07

It has been seven years
and I'm still not used to it
not used to living in
the 21st century.

The novelty of y2k
is still fresh in my mind
still getting used to writing my years
with oh's
But I continue to surprise myself
when I see a copyright date
of art created in '02
how that seems old, in a way
or how the real entrance into the twentyfirst
seems to have been nine eleven

I know it will be the same as it always has been for me.
just as I'm getting used to a new decade
it is over.

i wrote about it

i wrote about it just now.

a friend's profile jogged my memory.

an observation of how we make ourselves forget

i've never forgotten

and i began to write it all down

the secret, the details

i've never forgotten

the words flowed from my fingertips

i wrote then threw it away

two questions

You asked the question that has often passed your lips
and when you ask, I know the words I hear are only the tip
of what extends into your heart and mind.
I ask the same question of myself.

What is to become of us?
I know you aren't asking for a magic formula
or an answer to how our worlds can collide,
but only to acknowledge, we have this thing,
this special unique connection
that grows each day, in exciting ways,
in subtle ways.

how you shared with me
pieces of life.
I knew your heart,
that you were giving me another piece of you,
subtle excitement at the pieces your offer,
the little parts of you.

Excitement,
meeting you in the most unlikely places
at the most unlikely times
subtle,
your calls to share the slices of your day
to give me your voice and your mind.

Then you ask, what if I were free?
That one hit me, hard and unaware.
In that question, you said a thousand things,
and I thought of the implication.
My silence was the gears of my mind
turning, churning and leaping at the thought,
hoping at the chance.

Later, I answered.
I told you I want to lay next to you,
my head on your breast,
smelling your freshness,
touching your hair,
kissing your lips.
I want to fall asleep with you.
I want to just hold you,
to wake up and eat breakfast together,
watch a TV program together,
discuss the news and the weather.
I love learning from you, the things I don't know.
I love seeing life through your eyes,
seeing things in a way I've never known before.
And I love showing you my view.

and you told me
yeah, me too, yeah, yeah...
and you spoke of the worth of your questions,
of the new possibilities in your imagination.

I sigh, lay back in repose
and continue to engulf myself in you.

Diggin' on James Brown

Christmas morning, 2006. I read the news today, oh boy.

It was the King. Not "of pop", not "of rock", but the King of Soul. The Godfather of Soul, if you will.

James Brown died last night. This man has been an icon in my life. For as far back as I can remember in my musical life, James Brown was there. Though my music tastes ebbed and flowed, and changed from genre to genre, James Brown and his music has been there. Back in the days of my high school garage band, The Martells, when I thoroughly impressed myself with learning the bass riff to Cold Sweat, or being the only white soul band in the area who included I'm Black and I'm Proud in their repertoire, James Brown's music was a pillar and beacon. The quality of his tight music was something we strove to emulate.

Over the years, as my music tastes changed, and I moved from Soul, to Rock, to Blues and Psychedelia, the soul of James Brown remained a staple of my musical palate.

Moving through days as a nomadic preacher to settling down with a wife and family, playing church bass and drums, back out through my ups and downs, losing my religion, the highs and lows of Living in America, James Brown and his music was one of those things of American life that was just there, always in the background, always finding its way into the fabric of Americana. I told my kids the news this morning. They were equally stunned. James Brown has always just been there. Being so ingrained in our common psyche, we took him for granted. He was timeless.

It's Christmas Morning, 2006 and I'm sitting here, Diggin' on James Brown.

© Marc S. McCune 2006

Humanity Machine

This is a new mall for me. I've never been here before. A lot of nice unusual shops here. Different stores not seen in the shopping malls I usually frequent. It is a multi leveled structure, floors between floors. Ramps, stairs and escalators to transport shoppers between floors, mezzanines, and elevated spaces.

Looking down, from the top balcony, out across the wide indoor thoroughfare, I see the holiday shoppers. In between the hanging lights, and holiday decorations, I see people in all shapes and sizes. Walking in groups, families, friends, or alone. Once again I am hit with this familiar feeling. This realization that comes upon me. Seeing all of these thousands of people in this place. They all come here, sharing in this social scene. Personal orbits intersecting each other. Worlds colliding, if only for a brief moment. I am flooded with unexplainable thoughts. When I try to articulate what I feel, I find that there is a dearth of words. I have to invent these phrases as I go along. And my companions look at me with that blank stare. "What are you talking about?" Life. I'm talking about life. Humanity. The Human Machine. These thoughts hit me when I'm in crowded places. When I see people in this way, interacting in the life dance. And I think about how this extends from here out into every other place. This night, in other malls around my great city, the same thing occurs. The same dance, the same life. And I get amazed that all of this humanity is drawn together in the same fashion. And there are all of those other worlds. Those personal spaces of which I'd love to touch. The aspects of these individual worlds. The untold stories laying in between the lines. I think of how not only here, in my Chicago, but in St. Louis, Minneapolis, Pittsburgh, Atlanta, New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Youngstown, Gainesville, Houston...I lose my breath, thinking how in every city, in every state, the humanity machine ticks, ebbs, flows.

I used to get this same feeling, on cold Saturday mornings, fog still laying thick on the fields, as scores of youth soccer teams went through their paces, playing their games. Parents standing on the sidelines, warming themselves with hot cups of coffee, talking to one another, strangers meeting strangers for the first time. Sharing stories about their kids. How in the same way, parents and children came together at this very same hour, in all the towns across the nation. The humanity machines. I cannot explain it. These words are inadequate. They surely don't describe the deep thought and feeling that accompany this idea washing around in my mind. So I remain, in awe, of the world, the universe, of this thing that god has wrought.

© Marc S. McCune 2006

another Solstice brings The Smiling Girl

On the morning train, she brought a very bright smile
hair pulled up and back in a pony tail,
dressed in her pink ski jacket
zip-up university sweat shirt underneath, and blue jeans.
She flashed me the bright smile.
her face, tanned
"Hi! How have you been?" bright eyes gleaming
Great, I said
We walked together upon leaving the train
"I looked around" she said,
"and I think I'm the only one with a pink coat on."
I smiled. "It's your ski jacket" I reasoned.
We walked on.
She left me at my building with a smile.
It's good to see my sometimes friend.
The Smiling Girl

searching for paradise

Very young, I was in awe at the satin vestments, the sparkling gold ornaments, the chiming of bells at the altar. The smell of incense filled my nostrils, as I sat in the pew, feet not touching the floor, wide eyes at the priest, smoke billowing from the censor at the altar as he blessed the congregation. I didn't know what it was all about, except that it was about God. I looked around at the crowd of people, crossing themselves, speaking in an unknown language. The Latin I would later struggle with as an altar boy. These people seemed to know secrets. I wondered at their connection to the powerful, the magical, the unseen. My young mind took it all in.

I was filled with questions. In my daily religion class at Immaculate Conception Catholic School I constantly had my hand up, asking the nun the hypothetical questions about heaven, hell, salvation, sin and grace.

Ah grace, the idea that I could be sanctified. I saw creamy white light in my mind's eye when I thought of the sanctifying grace. I was in awe that I could stand before God, as a perfect, blameless person. But life quickly taught me differently. In the midst of my easy path to God, I encountered pitfalls in my young life that gave me experiences that I could never confess to the priest. He would never understand or grant remission. Sin piled up upon sin and my white light turned to sackcloth and ashes.

Through my youth I started to learn, and I continued to imbibe on life's pleasures, yet seeking God, religion and fulfillment, but not finding it.

I landed at several different spiritual thresholds. At age seventeen I frightfully, but bravely forsook my Catholic upbringing. I saw that the lightning did not smite me from heaven. I moved forward in my quest and deeply embraced the hippie guru philosophies. Fueled by lysergic substances, I was fooled into thinking I found sure answers. But after a few years of dabbling, I was captured again by representatives of The Messiah. I listened as they witnessed of what all now seemed true to me. And I plunged into my new religion.

In my search for paradise, I filled my mind with scriptures and Jesus, music and the esoteric side of Christianity. Prophecies and speaking in tongues, healing and miracles all seemed natural in this different side of Christianity. But in the back of my mind was always the idea that things were being forced into place. Interpretations of natural phenomena received supernatural explanations. Rumors and tales became fodder for miraculous stories. Yet I learned to belong. I studied daily.

Then another change. Striving to be perfect, I forsook the world of Babylon. I joined a group of itinerant evangelists. I became a nomad, embracing poverty for paradise. I grew my beard long and wore robes of righteousness. I traveled this country along the highways and in the centers of learning. Sowing our seeds of religion to those who where hungry. Hungry and naive. And I disdained all who did not believe as me and my brethren. But the more I read, the more I studied; the more I saw that all was not right. Studying to show myself approved, I found yet again, that I was a believer in tales and ideas of a faulty man. Our Elder, a single man with charisma to convince disciples to believe as he did. And once again, with fear I forsook my faith. At a new threshold I continued to search for paradise.

I found myself back in the mainstream. And for years I sought to find the key. The key that was supposed to be mine by mere faith. I continued to read and to study. All the books, all the deep things of a devotee, never satisfied with being on periphery of this faith. Never content with not having all the facts. I studied the history, I looked at the origins. I read the old books that most of my fellow Christians don't read, or even know about. Books written by the Fathers in the early centuries.

Over the years, I began to see that things didn't add up. I saw how this faith was mostly blind. In my search for paradise, I began to look at how religions started. Not just mine, but the religions of the world. What did recent new religions claim? How did they begin? What did the Scientologist L. Ron Hubbard see and say? What of the Mormon Joseph Smith? I could see farce and untruths. Yet I saw millions following paths that were clearly fairy tales. People searching for paradise and grabbing onto lies. I looked further back in the years and centuries. And I realized how others had also seen their own angels, and had spouted their own personal revelations. I saw that such was true with Mohammed, with St. Paul, Pharaoh Akhenaten, Zoroaster, Buddha, Moses, and even Abraham.

I realized that these men all claimed the exclusive path to paradise, the only connection to God. They all claimed to be the sole source of the holy oracles. Yet I saw that these all were paths started by a lone man. A single person on his personal search for paradise. A person who relayed his story to others. And for different reasons people believed, or converted, or submitted. Be it a father teaching his own family and children and grandchildren about his personal ideas of God, or a leader conquering other countries and forcing conversions. Even new religions for profit and filthy lucre.

I looked out upon this field of faith. I could envision great monolithic structures that evolved from simple beginnings. And I saw vast populations, civilizations completely built upon a base of lies and false tales, upon misconceptions and ignorance of the truth of the universe. I looked at each of these religious worlds. In my mind's eye I could see a huge social structures built up, on a base of traditions and laws. And each religion was a world unto itself. I could see how a person is born and raised, and lived their complete life within the shadow of their religion, content with their path to paradise, yet ignorant of real life in the real universe.

And I began to change my mind. I began to apply the scrutiny I placed on all the other religions upon my own. And I saw the fallacy and the lies. I stepped out of the box I was in. I tore down my tight boundaries. And my universe became infinite. God became infinite. God was no longer an idol created in the image of a man, with human characteristics, with human anger and wrath and jealousy. God became all powerful to me. I was shocked at how small my idea of God had really been. I now understood how religion creates small idols and claim that their idol is the all powerful God. But their Gods are held within a rigid set of rules that mankind itself creates. I realized that I cannot know God. It is folly for me to preach my version of God, to attempt to convert others to my understanding, to my way of thinking. Doing so is like being one of the blind men in the fable about the five blind men and the elephant. Each blind man placed their hands on the elephant, describing the part of the animal that they encountered as being the true representation of the elephant. One described the animal as a great wall, another blind man said the elephant was long, like a serpent, yet another insisted that the elephant was flat and floppy, and so on. None of them actually understood the true picture.

So here I am. Still asking questions, not believing that the sun, moon or the elements are gods, nor that the path is through space aliens, or that God had a son who walked on water. Nor do I believe that keeping medieval laws, be they 613 mitzvot or Sharia or any other religion's narrow precepts, will get me to God.

I am still looking for the answers.

© Marc S. McCune 2006

the perfect job

Ringling Bros and

Barnum & Baily
job fair

Ringling Bros and
Barnum & Bailey
is look for hardworking dedicated individuals for the following job opportunities.
100% travel is required for all positions

FLOOR CREW
BACKSTAGE PROPS CREW
ANIMAL CREW
COOK

Apply in person, etcetera, etcetera.

Hmmm...that would be the perfect job. Well, that is how I feel about it right now. If I wasn't so encumbered with family, friends and other duties. If I was 21 years old again...

Here I am, perusing the want ads in the Chicago Tribune, trying to find suitable employment. The day before Halloween I got the big surprise at work. "We are eliminating your position". I was stunned. "As of today." I suddenly felt what it is like to be a zombie, walking around like all the life had been sucked out of me.

Changing jobs is not a common thing with me. I had this job for five years. And my last job I was comfy and cozy in for twenty years. I'm not used to this. It's like going into a singles bar at age 50 after you've gotten a divorce. When you haven't been in circulation for years. You kind of forget how to do things. Your skills are not up do date. And you have got to take a crash course in how to learn all the current and new right moves.

There is this nagging in the back of my mind. I keep having visions of myself wearing the blue vest and standing in front of Walmart as a greeter, pushing shopping carts.

I did run away with the carnival once, when I was in seventh grade. Well, I didn't actually run away. My parents knew I was working at the carnival in town. They gave me permission to leave on the road with my friend Steve to work with the carnival for two weeks. For a kid in the middle of junior high summer vacation, that was the best time. My first real job experience, not counting my weekly gig of cutting Mrs. Gould's grass. I lost that grass cutting job after I tried to force a wage increase on old Mrs. Gould. Don't fault me. I had no inkling, at my young age about fixed incomes and that my boss's funds were limited. I was a growing boy, and $1.00 a week suddenly seemed like cheap wages for cutting grass. She didn't want to raise my pay to $1.50. She was a sweet old lady. I miss her.

I enjoyed the work experience with the carnival. I learned how to stay up all night erecting the rides. Putting together the merry-go-round and the ferris wheel, piece by piece was great on-the-job training. But my main job was working in the food vending trailer. I got to have free cotton candy and candy apples. And there were other fringe benefits. In my two week stint with the carnival, I had two new girlfriends, and I was working on a third. I felt like a sailor, with a girl in every port. When I finished my two weeks, the girls even kept in touch and wrote me at home, sending pictures and love letters. Charlotte and Kathy. I still remember their names.

I learned how to play poker with other carnies. Two guys who's names really were Lonnie and Slim. Lonnie was man in his late 40's, having been a carny all his life. Slim was younger. A greaser who reminded me of Fonzie, but not as clean. I never realized how good of a card player my friend Steve was, until Slim got angry and wouldn't pay up when he lost a hand that Steve had bluffed. Lonnie had to break up the argument, keeping Steve and Slim at bay. Tall angry Slim on one side, and thirteen year old Steve on the other, brandishing a large crescent wrench as an equalizer. Lonnie and Slim taught us the secrets of being a carney. How to stick together in a fight. And when to run.

Looking back at the newspaper classifieds, I let out a sigh. If circumstances were different, you'd see me in the back lot behind the tent. Wrestling animal cages off of the truck. Shovel and broom in hand, walking behind the elephants. But I don't think this circus job will work out this time. I need a gig with a 401K.

I read the news

I read the news today, oh boy
heard the news on the wire.
A kind soul found three weeks gone
yet a memory was pulled out of dusty corner.

Beatles on the radio today
WXRT Beatlemania all day.
In the midst of listening
I heard the news
I read the news.

I remember John, back in the day
the day of wanting to be
the fifth Beatle
envy, just a kid and he already
was performing,
in the park,
guest guitarist with Benny Hipsley's band
I saw her standing there.

I read the news
another long lost fan.
She told the editor,
she, from junior high,
Ticket To Ride, reminds her
she thinks of John whenever she hears the tune

He was kind, softspoken
he was a soul, flung into hard times
lost, then found
I always wondered where he landed
what became of him.

In my home town, we knew him.
the musicians musician
a friend, a kind heart
a smile that made you smile.

Barb told me today
last time she talked to him
he remembered me
"oh yeah, he's a good guitar player"
I'm flattered.

I felt distance regret,
sad that I could not be there,
sad that I did have the chance
to also bring my guitar to the park
to pay tribute,
along with all the other musicians
just to remember a little

half a world away

half a world away
I talked to her from the other side of the planet
yet she sounded so close
there she is connecting with family and friends
half a world away.
the sun is so hot, she says
and this moment we share
the same radiant shine
half a world away

ripples

I cannot work, cannot concentrate. My head, heart and soul are filled with her. No, I cannot be love struck like this, because this way is impossible. I cannot have all of her. The fruit of this tree is delicious. It is irresistible. But I am lovestruck. I am subdued. All of a little just isn’t enough. The stone of my life makes ripples in her pool. And when she engulfs me, it is heaven. When she is not there, I wait, listen, and yet she still fills up my heart and mind. Then she returns to find me here. And I am wondering what she is thinking. I am wondering how she feels.

our best day

I died, she said
I died and went to heaven
it was magic, she said, simply magic

It was the best time we ever had, she said
oh yes, it's true.
watching her, in the middle our love embrace
my eyes fixed on hers
looking deeply inside
the wordless times when souls intertwine.

We had never been so close
never so into each other
when words don't come, just thoughts
she and I, we are here, truly together
in love, making love

I was content just to hold on to her
hearing her heartbeat
listening to her breath as she slept

every touch and caress
every time she came to me
with strength and passion
so delicious,
our best day

I told me

I wrote myself a letter
to explain the way we feel
I asked myself hard questions
about you, about me
I wrote down my thoughts
for my eyes to see
my private thoughts
about the way I want to make love to you
you know me,  always thinking and analyzing
I told me of the things you’ve given
I listened as I imagined the thoughts in your head
I told me to wait, and listen.

your best face

in this matrix, putting our best foot forward
placing our signs out for the world to see
at our blog spots, our spaces, on live journals,
inviting the world to look and see
our best poem, piece of art,
our provacative photos, funny jokes
our clever avatar or headline blurb
this is the music I like
these are the places I love
these are pictures of me and mine
asking the world...do you like them?
do you approve?
i'm showing mine, show me yours
giving out pieces of our lives
putting on pretty masks like evening clothes
to go out for the night of fun
but not all is a mask
we dare, to pull back the mask
showing, "this is what I look like"
"this is how I feel"

like my mother

I saw her again today.
just like the other day.
she stands, her four packed bags near her feet.
holding up copies of Streetwise
waiting for a sale.
this is her home, I reason
she lives on this street
she's not aggressive, no sales pitch
just a quiet demeanor, her head tilted down
eyes to the ground
standing straight
as straight as she can with her hunched back
she stands, and reminds me of my mother
"I'll take one of those", handing her a dollar
her eyes lift, but her head remains tilted down
she doesn't quite make eye contact
"thank you very much" she smiles
"have a nice day" her voice, clear
a grandma's voice
like my mother

night sounds

it is 1:00 a.m. and I hear her outside my window.
on this warm spring chicago night, I hear the girl
crying, speaking into her cell phone, sobs and worry.
he kicked her out of the apartment.
her voice, frantic, angry, dispair.

I hear her friend talking, I don't feel quite as bad
the girl is not alone, she has someone who knows her
she will help, I reason.
I hear the sound of her shoes,
heels clip clopping on the hard sidewalk
as she runs past my second story window
I hear her run back towards her apartment, angry
determined to get back inside

she returns, back beneath my window
yelling, so hurt, so angry, sounding lost

hidden in a place that's safe and true

right now...I'm overwhelmed with this feeling I have for you.  
it bubbles up inside of me, and is overflowing.
thoughts of times we've had together, of everything we've shared.
and anticipation of the next time I will be with you.
listening to those words of love
the music flows through me,
just as you flow into my inner parts.
"i'm loving every moment with you..."
"You're hidden in a place that's safe and true."
I look at your images and my heart skips a beat
"I hear words you don't need to say..."
"you feel what I feel, in every way!..."
"loving everything we do."

Discovering the Substance of Love

she meets me, bringing friendship to me
in her way, unique in all whom I have known
a comfort and affection that has grown into sensual fire.

day by day we discover worlds within us
our trust is tested, our love
comes a time, when we see the things that we spoke
become more than words or love’s desires.

this woman, I want close to me
not only her presence, but her thoughts and heart
she lays her life out before me to see
and I grab onto her
clutching on for life
some of it is a life I don’t understand
but here, I am wanting more.
wanting to know more
wanting to fill this eternal mind
with her thoughts and understanding

she shows me her way of seeing the world
and sharing what she can,
as she drinks every drop of life
that is put before her.

I know what she means…to Let It Be
to just let love be there
when we bask in it, without question
as we have immersed ourselves in love
and in each other
that special flow, the type of oneness that comes
when lovers are joined, in body, mind, and the heart
when all that is left to do is to embrace
and everything flows from the one to the other
the touch of our bodies
and the connection in our hearts
flows from one to the other
and back again

the $300 date

I found you tonight!

and I'm not wondering,

your kisses were sweet, and your touch, soft and sincere.

You showed me your heart, and I'm delighted

and I see what you feel inside.

I found you tonight, and I'm so happy

The poetry slam, the atmosphere, our cars illegally parked,

the cold walk to the car impound,

all a part of our lives together, of this thing we embrace

this Love we share!

looking, wondering

i'm looking for you,

wondering where you are

wondering what you are thinking

not sure what's in your heart

the questions you asked

the statements you posed

have me wondering, looking and longing for you

I want you, need you...would like to see you

and there is no doubt that I totally love you.

you know? we've just begun

only now have scratched the surface

just now have tasted the fruit.

and we found it delightful, delicious and good.

today, it's a little stronger than yesterday,

which was stronger than the day before.

I'm looking for you,

wondering where you are.

this you gave

this Heart of mine, it is yours
you helped me retrieve it from the waste places
to fix this hole
and to get it pumping again

this Life of mine, has taken a turn
you walked into my world
and you broke down the wall
and light came streaming in

this Soul of mine, you touched it
you reached in behind my mask,
and peered into a dark room of my inner being
and you understood

this Love of mine, you gave me
you made it sweet and delicious
I tasted your love and I'm intoxicated with your taste
I am thirsty for all you can give.

what lovers do

everyday is bringing us closer together.
we are surprising ourselves with just how deeply this can go.
you spoke to me of being One
something that lovers do…wondering why
it has never been quite that way for either of us.

we look back down the roads that led us here.  
We were worlds apart…
from two places whose paths could not possibly meet
yet, here we are, good, fortunate or lucky
in each other’s arms
and being drawn oh so much more deeper into each other.

leg against hip, bodies pressed up against one another,
groin to groin, lips to lips, tongue to tongue
your fingers on my face
my fingers to your ear
intertwined, to get a little closer
looking into each other’s eyes.
being inside the other.
tightly holding the other deep inside.
coming at this moment

my mind opened to yours
my thoughts anticipated by yours
finishing sentences for each other
knowing and seeing this link we have
feeling the oneness
and having a Love neither of us has ever known.

2 = 1

we both KNOW that we are ONE
both of us have spoken it
we see that there is something special that is happening.
an unexplainable closeness between us
be become one in such a power way
we flowed together, into each other
like liquid
you gathered me into you, so deep
and both of us, all the while, holding on
breath intermingled
tongues intertwined, plunging, exploring
meeting you, inside you
never wanting to leave you
the water and the wetness
joined in you and around me
I was amazed, still am amazed
finer than the anticipation
unexpected and unplanned
spontaneous combustion of our love
words are scant and fleeting
I can't really described it
but we know it, we felt it
share it.

the two of us

I'm so consumed with the thoughts of you that I can't even work

in my mind, I replay our public display of affection

I recall how you felt, at the touch of my fingers
your moist heat, my touch, making you vibrate

I remember how it felt when you touched me.

we openly went there, not caring about the time or place
or who may be watching and wondering

being engulfed in each other, hungry for more
not wanting to stop

my all-day thoughts, looking forward
towards more days and nights
the two of us, giving each other the two of us.

ice cold margarita tongue

I am thinking about yesterday, trying to find words
that would describe how I feel.
I am like the writer who starts a page,
and then rips the paper out of the typewriter,
throwing it in a ball and starts over again.

today, you flood my thoughts
they swirl in my mind, and I can’t pinpoint them,
like speaking in tongues.
But the thoughts of you are clear and bright.
I was totally immersed,
you wrapped yourself around me,
pressing against me, pulling me close to you,
your full soft lips against mine,
your ice cold margarita tongue surrounded by your hot lips,
making me vibrate and wanting more.  
and then we found, those perfect kisses
I did not want to leave you…
didn’t want the afternoon to end.

later, you called and wanted to see me again.
I got it.  I realized just what you were doing,
I knew the time and the day,
and what you were offering,
and my heart leaped at the thought

now, just when I think the feeling can’t get stronger
I am again surprised by Love
Although I may not easily understand this,
I welcome and accept that thing we share.

It feels so wonderful

[contributed by my partner in writing ]

It feels so wonderful
To be welcomed back right here
And realize with a rush of wonder
That a distance of time and space
Has not diminished feelings and tender love
It did diffuse doubts and pains
And feelings that this cannot ever be
This constant connection
Over a million miles
Over oceans and continents
Over religions and cultures
Over and over you tweaked me and called
Even when it was dark here and light there
Cold here and warm there
Nothing kept this connection from
Disconnection
And I thought- this is still impossible
On my end and on his
But at the same time it is there
Alive
Thriving
Feeling so good
Love

miss your kiss

someone wrote “just enjoy the feeling. . .”
yeah, I’m doing that, enjoying the feeling
of  reeling and rocking inside of me.
better to be awash in this feeling
because I can’t do all that pinpointing and defining,
surmising and wondering,
wondering if anything has changed.

Two weeks of distractions
and I only saw the Smiling Girl once.
I listen to new music
Antoine DuFour sets the tone
my mind drifts on his waves
combined with my own
and the white crested thoughts of you

I tell myself I am longing for intellectual platonic interaction;
but really, I just miss your kiss

Drudge Report misrepresents

I wrote a letter to the editor of The Drudge Report this morning. I was pissed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I'm amazed at how you put a head line like

MARY J. BLIGE: 'THE BLACKER YOU ARE, THE WORSE AMERICA IS FOR YOU'...
on the top of the Drudge Report on Dec. 17 (I saw it around 7:44 CST)

And then when I read the story at http://www.guardian.co.uk/arts/features/story/0,11710,1669258,00.html
I realize that you have taken that little snippet from the complete story and plastered it up there, completely out of context.

The headline makes it seem that Mary J. Blige has some kind of beef with white america (I am a white american).
When, you read the article, that isn't the point of the piece at all.

this has made my opinion of the Drudge report (which I have highly valued as an alternative source of news) sink very low...and puts you on a par with all the other slanted media. What is this...the National Enquirer? I thought you had more intregrity than this.

Why not head line the article "Mary J. Blige turns her life around and finds religion?" That would have been more accurate.

sheesh,

Marc McCune
Palos Hills, IL

you amaze me

when I least expected it
you were thinking of me.
when you were in that holy place
I was in your thoughts,
and I was surprised by joy.
my name was on your lips tonight
and you said goodnight
half a world away.

you amaze me and
surprise me with your love.
you have this knack
of making my heart pound
making it flutter with longing
to touch you again.
to hear your voice again
to read your mind again.

for once in my life

a song for My Special Friend [by Red Letter]

I feel so alive I can't sleep a wink now
I can't focus my eyes on the TV screen
I can't get your voice out of my head
still getting high off of words that you said

for once in my life can I
get too much of a good thing,
stay on the up side of a mood swing?
for once in my life can I
win first prize at the jackpot,
fall in love not a little but a whole lot,
feel grateful for something that I've got?
for once in my life

I'm trying to breathe like a normal person, like
I truly believe that I do deserve this
your sweet lips keep kissing on me
still getting chills from the words that you speak

for once in my life can I
get too much of a good thing,
stay on the up side of a mood swing?
for once in my life can I
can I win first prize at the jackpot,
fall in love not a little but a whole lot?
feel grateful for something I've got

seem like this dream was always just out of reach
and my hope fades so fast

could it be true that this bud is about to bloom
and be beautiful at last?

for once in my life can I
get too much of a good thing,
stay on the up side of a mood swing?
for once in my life can I
win first prize at the jackpot,
fall in love not a little but a whole lot?
feel grateful for something I've got?

for once in my life.


listen at Red Letter's myspace

when she is gone

I am here, thinking of you,
far off on the other side of the earth
that place where the sun shines so bright
and now the weather is nice and warm
I am here, in dark Chicagoland, thinking warm thoughts of you.

there you are, finally taking a rest, finally taking the time
I hope you can hear my thoughts
they are bouncing out to you
I hope you can feel my heart
beating strong for you.

we both replay the touch, skin to skin,
replaying the words and understanding we share
I’ll look for your return
hoping to see you and be with you
You’ll tell me all about it,
you’ll share with me your trip, your holiday
telling me more of the things you love.

Love, Lonely Love

from Anonymous

When she first begins to bud
Love is so sensitive
So tentative
So fragile
She tries to send forth her sweet blossoms
Let little delicious flowers sprout
Oh, so tenderly lovely

Along comes a sudden chill
A dreadful wind
A hateful shrill
Young Love gets scared
She hides her face
Her budding flowers wither
Her buds crawl back into that warm space
From which she emerged
Buries herself
Wishes she was gone
Injured, crippled
She wills herself to slumber
Dormant now, oh so lonely

And sometimes-
Love becomes absurd
Unreasonable and crazed
She cannot breathe
She cannot love
How can you call her Love?

Love needs healing
Love needs loving
Love needs patience
Love needs you
Love needs time
To become Love again
Perhaps she will
Perhaps

M

. . .This is the book I never read
These are the words I never said
This is the path I'll never tread
These are the dreams I'll dream instead
This is the joy that's seldom spread
These are the tears...The tears we shed
This is the fear
This is the dread
These are the contents of my head
And these are the years that we have spent
And this is what they represent
And this is how I feel
Do you know how I feel?
'Cause I don't think you know how I feel
I don't think you know what I feel
I don't think you know what I feel
You don't know what I feel

Why

the sweetest thing

. . .Blue-eyed boy meets a brown-eyed girl
Oh oh oh, the sweetest thing
You can sew it up but you still see the tear
Oh oh oh, the sweetest thing
Baby’s got blue skies up ahead
And in this I’m a rain cloud
Ours is a stormy kind of love
Oh oh oh, the sweetest thing. . .

God told me

when in the world would I ever say that again?

God told me.

the still small voice (1 Kings 19:11-12) told me not to post all of the words I've written.
told me not to screw it up worse than it is.

ok. let it be

let go

did you ever have one of the fucking bullshit nights?
yes...I'm having one. -- Marc

Let Go
by imogene heap
- listen -

Drink up baby down
Hmm, are you in or are you out
Leave your things behind
'Cause it's all going off without you

Excuse me too busy
Writing your tragedy
These mishaps you bubble-wrap
When you've no idea what you're like

So let go
So let go
Jump in
Oh well what you waiting for
It's alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

So let go
Let it go
Just get in
Oh it's so amazing here
It's alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

It gains the more it gives
And it rises with the fall
So hand me that remote
Can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow

Such boundless pleasure
We've no time for later now
You can't await your own arrival
You've twenty seconds to comply

So let go
So let go
Jump in
Oh well what you waiting for
It's alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

So let go
Yeah let it go
Just get in
Oh it's so amazing here
It's alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

So let go
So let go
Jump in
Oh well what you waiting for
It's alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

So let go
Let it go
Just get in
Oh it's so amazing here
It's alright
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

Breakdown
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown
So let it go
Oh it's so amazing here
'Cause there's beauty in the breakdown

morning joy

You are a bringer of happiness to my life. You know, it’s been so many years since I’ve had this kind of nudge in my heart. It’s been too long since I’ve encountered a person who lights up my eyes when I see her. Smiles flash back and forth between us. It is that recognition that lights up our faces. Whenever I see you I think, “There she is!”. Your dark sparkly eyes bore into me. We see past the surface, down into the soul. When I meet you, my heart breathes…sighs in contentment. Because, with you, I am sharing the things I value with a woman who sees value in those same things. You remind me of my core. Such that I remember the important part of my life; underneath the patina of long years, under the dross of vain tradition and fears, down to what is true and worth holding on to. Together we see things in this life, that we learn to put in their proper place. We find the importance of those things we are holding onto. . .and the vanity of what we should have let go of long ago.

let it be

I was writing
spinning words
looking at them
then throwing them away
In my heart I feel the need to speak,
to tell you more, and more of what I feel,
to explain to you in ever refined detail…
and I wrote
and I threw it away.



and even now, I'm throwing away what I write...editing...changing...lest I make myself out a liar.

love me when I'm gone

the things she said...
tonight is the test
for me
to see
if I can do what I promised.
today was so fine
basking in afterglow
now a long night
wanting her to show

the happy poet

here I am...drinking port wine
writing with a buzz
reading C.J.'s angry poetry
and remembering last night.
right now, I see love lost...and love found
through my purple haze I'm looking
comparing...both sides of this muse.
the sad loss
of trust
of love
of understanding
and my biggest discovery of the same
my remembrance
of your lips, your tongue, your face
your hold and your acceptance.

my, how we all just want love
in this life, we all just want happiness
and the treasure of finding the one
the one we think is the ultimate
the receiver of our attentions
the one to accept our devotion
and one who understands how we think
what we love
the one who understands our words
and our thoughts

and now,
thinking of you
your sweetness
your closeness
your love
too small of a word, love
not big enough to capture the mass
beneath the iceberg tip
not big enough to capture the universe of thought
and emotion.

this mystery
who can know it?
of sages and philosophers
prophets and poets
we only just go with the flow
we only just ride this wave
hoping that the love will never end
loving for today
having you for today

Accidentally In Love

by Counting Crows

listen here

So she said what's the problem baby
What's the problem I don't know
Well maybe I'm in love
Think about it every time
I think about it
Can't stop thinking 'bout it

How much longer will it take to cure this
Just to cure it cause I can't ignore it if it's love
Makes me wanna turn around and face me but I don't know nothing 'bout love

Come on, come on
Turn a little faster
The world will follow after
Cause everybody's after love

So I said I'm a snowball running
Running down into the spring that's coming
all this love
Melting under blue skies
Belting out sunlight
Shimmering love

Well baby I surrender
To the strawberry ice cream
Never ever end of all this love
Well I didn't mean to do it
But there's no escaping your love

These lines of lightning
Mean we're never alone,
Never alone, no, no

Come on, Come on
Move a little closer
I want to hear you whisper
Settle down inside my love

Come on, come on
Jump a little higher
If you feel a little lighter
We were once
Upon a time in love

We're accidentally in love

Accidentally

Come on, come on
Spin a little tighter
And the world's a little brighter
Just get yourself inside her

Love ...I'm in love

you don't know

She tells me, you don’t know, and really…I do not know.
I suppose I’m a good guesser. I can see the signs
sometimes I figure her out, most of the times I know.
but the signs don’t always point to the same direction.

Some days, I set myself up…reacting to what she does, where she goes
I set myself up to feel a certain way,  
being not quite in…not quite there, with her.  
Knowing she is elsewhere
its some place else, and someone else.

but then she surprises me.  And I try to figure out
what she’s thinking, how her mind is working.
yeah, she tells me, you don’t know the effect you have on me
she tells me, you don’t know the place you occupy in my life.
and really…I do not know.

Because then, I can’t see the signs.  
And her signs that I do see are pointing
somewhere else, to someone else
Because I look and think, I wish that was me,
but then she surprises me again.  She makes the choice
and looks at me, thinks of me, when I thought it’d be someone else.

and she whispers, sweetly in my ear
her lips touching my cheek, her fingers tracing lines
her face buried in my chest,
she whispers, you don’t know the effect you have on me
her face next to mine, you don’t know the place you occupy in my life.

no doubt. . .

I am in L O V E!

note to self. . .

somebody sent me this…you know…one of those internet chain letters.
But I read this a couple of times. I should be listening.

1. I love you not because of who you are, but because of who I am when I am with you.

2. No man or woman is worth your tears, and the one who is, won't make you cry.

3. Just because someone doesn't love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.

4. A true friend is someone who reaches for your hand and touches your heart.

5. The worst way to miss someone is to be sitting right beside them knowing you can't have them.

6. Never frown, even when you are sad, because you never know who is falling in love with your smile.

7. To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.

8. Don't waste your time on a man/woman, who isn't willing to waste their time on you.

9. Maybe God wants us to meet a few wrong people before meeting the right one, so that when we finally meet the person, we will know how to be grateful.

10. Don't cry because it is over, smile because it happened.

11. There's always going to be people that hurt you so what you have to do is keep on trusting and just be more careful about who you trust next time around.

12. Make yourself a better person and know who you are before you try and know someone else and expect them to know you.

13. Don't try so hard, the best things come when you least expect them to.

REMEMBER: WHATEVER HAPPENS, HAPPENS FOR A REASON.


listening to: Let Go by Frou Frou

When Religion Destroys

In today's online AlJazeera, I read an article about how the story of Afghanistan, in media, film, radio, and recordings; had been saved from the destruction by the Taliban.

This sad scenario replays itself, over and over, time and again. Indeed, when the Spanish conquered The Aztecs and Mayans, they systemactially destroyed thousands of written codexes and manuscripts, and thus destroyed much of the history of the new world.

This is sadly, the situation when a group of people are convinced that they are the spokesmen of God. That they are the ones who's job it is, to be enforcers of their brand of morality...regardless of how strict or ridiculous their rules may be. I've lived through this myself, a member of the Jim Roberts Group. Been through my share of religion and rules based upon myth, ancient traditions, and fear.

We are sadly seeing this still in this world today. The fundamentalist religions who preach intolerance, and violence against those they perceive as being nonbelieving infidels. Read and consider. Selah.



Saving the story of Afghanistan

The black and white images projected into the darkened cinema show an Afghanistan that years of war have destroyed.

There is Kabul as a manicured city, lights strung among the trees along the river. Actresses have beehive hairdos, knee-length skirts and cleavage. Boys and girls march together on a sports field. European hippies lounge in the sun.

The ultra-conservative Taliban wanted these images destroyed, torching thousands of cassettes after locking the doors of the television studios and cinemas and turning off the music when they took control in 1996.

That these glimpses of the past can be shown today in Kabul's famous Ariana cinema, itself destroyed in the four-year civil war that preceded the Taliban's rule, is because of great risks by archive staff.

Hidden tapes

At Afghan Film they hid tapes in the ceiling and a secret room, breaking power circuits to defeat Taliban searches.

At the several-storey Radio and Television of Afghanistan (RTA) building, they split up the collection and squirrelled cassettes into the basement and scores of other rooms, pretending the archive had been looted.

"They worked with a lot of danger for themselves, for their families," says Rahman Panjshiri, RTA head of planning and international relations.

"If the Taliban knew that, for example, these people kept some tapes in the basement, they might have punished them seriously or they might have put them in prison," he says.

The Taliban torched two shipping containers of tapes outside the Afghan Film office, although staff had made sure they were only prints of Hindi and Russian films. RTA surrendered 1500 cassettes of foreign music.

First Afghan film

But 14,500 hours of television footage survived, dating from 1978, as did 45,000 hours of radio starting in the 1940s and more than 100,000 hours of film, including the first Afghan movie, Love and Friendship, made about 60 years ago.

Having emerged through all that, the precious store is under threat again, this time from the humidity and temperature changes that destroy film and tape.

Since 2002 the French National Audio-Visual Institute (INA) has been helping to digitalise the footage, a painstaking process that has covered only about 1200 hours of material - an occasion marked by the showing at the Ariana last month.

The slowness of the project, with the radio archives only due to be started on in 2006, worries Panjshiri.

"We want to expedite the process because our archives are now in a very bad condition. Within the next 10 years nothing will be left in the archive to digitalise," he says.

"If we lose these things, it means that we will have lost our culture, our heritage, everything."

History on film

The footage includes pictures of some of the ruinous events from which Afghanistan is only just recovering.

There are the first Red troops to enter Kabul after the 1979 Soviet invasion; the first interview with Babrak Karmal, who arrived in Kabul on a Russian tank and became president in 1979; the daily skirmishes of the war between anti-Soviet mujahidin (1992-1996) that killed 50,000 people in the capital alone.

"Afghanistan is destroyed, Kabul is destroyed, we have these shots," says the head of Afghan Film, Latif Ahmadi. "The wounded people in hospital, bombing in Kabul ... most of the film is in this time, the war time."

There are also images of the treasures of Afghanistan's rich culture that the Taliban destroyed: the 2000-year-old Bamiyan Buddhas, ancient artefacts that had been in the museum, videos of deceased singers who are still popular today but whose recordings were supposed to have vanished forever.

Afghan Film also has rare footage of president Najibullah and his brother who were dragged from a United Nations compound and strung up in the streets of Kabul by the Taliban in 1996.
Rare footage

"We have pictures, only two minutes. It was very, very dangerous because the Taliban did not allow anybody to take pictures," Ahmadi says.

The rarest footage is from the Taliban period, because the government banned television, video and music as sinful.

"They turned Kabul into a very big grave. The silence at that time was like the silence of a graveyard," says the RTA's Panjshiri in his office still flecked by shrapnel from the civil war.
During the war, "it was a very bad situation but the people could say something, we could criticise everybody ... but during the Taliban, if you wanted to criticise for example [Taliban leader] Mullah Omar, maybe they would cut out your tongue".

Panjshiri and Ahmadi went into exile, returning after the Taliban were removed in a US-led campaign in late 2001.

For them, the restoration of the archives is a source of pride, with plans for film festivals, documentaries and DVDs once the footage has been digitalised.

"This archive is very important for the story of the country," says Ahmadi.

"When I tell somebody that before the 24, 25 years' war in Afghanistan we had a culture, we had a high civilisation, the girls wore mini-skirts, nobody can guess that. But if we show some films from that time, they will be very excited," he says.

US

words elude me
as this feeling engulfs me
to have you here...attached to my soul
my thoughts are toward you
my mind is yours
my heart, and my body...yours for the taking

my deepest darkness...you shared
and the light of your trust and understanding
has made this darkeness into light.
my emotions flow like a river toward you
I flow into your ocean and I'm swallowed in yourlove.

these words cannot even minutely describe
the feelings that I have right now.
there is not language, nor words
to adequately tell of my love, and desire.

Our love is complete, lt lacks nothing
it is full of trust...it overflows with deep understanding
it does not lack in acceptance that we have for each other.

I'll read these words, and I'll surely say
that I haven't described the slightest part of how I feel.
only to be with you, to hold your heat, to feel your presence.

US

just the right thing, at just the right time

just as I was feeling a little lost
just as I was feeling somewhat lonely;
She came to me with a song of love
and words of encouragement.

It was a simple statement just to tell me
of her deep feelings from inside her heart.
such a sweet way of telling me
that she is in love.

changing my mind again

She threw it up to me again last night.  Something that should have been forgotten.   Something that should have been forgiven.  She forgot that the prophet wrote, "Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”  She forgot that the Psalmist said “As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.”  In the heat of the words, I had a myriad of thoughts…much to say.  But today I’ve changed this mind again.  I don’t need the shit.  I don’t need the baggage.  I don’t need to carry it.  I don’t need me or anyone to dredge it up or examine it.  I do not need to be defined by ancient history.  I don’t need to dwell on what might have been.  Or the many what ifs in my life.

With vigor, this morning I’m changing my mind.  I am walking on. I am walking away from sorrow and dread…away from stupid mistakes and wasted years.  I’m walking without baggage.

I am holding on to new happiness as it comes my way.  I welcome those who walk with me along the way.  Those who like what they see, can share my good things. But I won’t give my old baggage.  Because I won’t be carrying it any more.  Such a good reason why I’ve never made a record of it.


It’s time to divorce myself from the old and broken down.  There is new life ahead.  There are pristine days and years to live.  What I grasp and hold, anew.  What I’ve denied myself for too long.   Here I go.

The Insurmountable Mountain

One does not even know
what is on the other side
of the mountain of life.

Going along, enjoying what one would think
is the best in the world
having carved out a place of happiness,
maybe just a little cleft of happiness
in a craggy rocky life.
Or maybe a sprawling bed of comfort
in a home of security
in a town of steadfastness
in a world set apart.

to find something completely new,
from the other side of the insurmountable mountain.
to have been Surprised By Joy
and embrace the unexpected and unplanned.
in wonderment of making changes
seeing new places,
new faces…

forsake the old?
embrace the new?
I would ask, who’s life is it?
which one do I touch?
and what about my own life?
when do I get control
of that which I own?
then there is the thought…
did I ever own it?
did I ever control it?
…my life.

And now faced…with the realization
that I did not know happiness before
not this happiness
not this deep
not this pure
not this familiarity entwined within new strangeness
not this comfort embedded within newness
not this sweetness mixed with bitterness
And not this Oneness . . .where two can not be one

I've Got The Horn!

Brett Garsed...guitar

dude #1: "yeah, you know...'den I've given it all..."

dude #2: "I kno...I know...I've got...I've the hor... I've got the Horn!"
I'VE GOT THE HORN!"

Just listen here.

once a daydream

I'm listening to Keaggy's sweet, sweet guitar
a lifting counterpoint to Jeff's earthy mandolin
they are serenading my thoughts
my thoughts of you
overwhelming me.
I'm floating on sweet music

Sferra sings
"once a day
everyday
i want to hear you
in the heart of a true love
in the heart of my new love"

I can't keep you out of my thoughts
I can't stay away
I do not abstain
I am overcome with you.

- listen -

her precious

I am simply overcome with emotion
with what she is asking of me.
and as I think on this
it takes my breath away,
my eyes burn,
and love flows;
that she would ask me to dwell
with her in this deep place
to find the face of God

she has taken her hand,
and opened her heart.
she has shown me a secret place,
a warm tender place.
she has let me hold the precious
and entrusted me with her treasure.
And I am honored by her trust and love.

whatsoever is good

When I smell the wild flowers
or suck on the sweet nectar of clover blossoms.
pulling the roots of a sassafras plant, just to smell the fragrance.
break off leaves of trees to taste and smell
exploring the senses.

laying in the grass, with eyes closed on a summer's day
just listening to the sound of the leaves in the trees,
rustling behind my head
feeling the sun on face
open my eyes and look at the clouds making shapes.

sitting near the American River, guitar in hand,
trying to reproduce the sound of the waters

late night moonless sky,
with stars painted across the heavens.
the sound of silence,
while looking at the milky way

walking down Riverside Avenue,
in the rain under my black umbrella,
peering across the wide Ohio river bend
and standing there through the long storm
watching the lightning dance on the hills of west virginia

standing within the crowd on 13th street,
watching the apartment building burn down
flames shooting so high in the night.
and thinking about the lonely girl who lived there.
The one who didn't get out. The girl who walked alone
through the high school halls.

The colors swirling, the sounds moving,
for the first time,
watching the world in lysergic amazement.
amazed at what was inside of my head
amazed at the answers that suddenly came over me.
engulfed in feeling that I've never felt before.

and then sitting with electrified friends
in the early dawn, looking down on the valley
viewing the three towns along the river
sitting on the heights,
seeing intense fire paint the sky.
looking into the sun through the morning clouds
and being utterly amazed at the pictures
and colorful forms playing out
on the immense canvas of the sky

pressed up against her.
Not believing that she was here with me.
soft lips, long blond hair,
petite body, and small pert breasts.
always fresh and a delight.
excited at what was to come next.
my high school sweetheart
warmth engulfing me
deep inside her, drawn into her
exploring the erotic,
never to this depth
just for fun

holding her in my hands
this new life...she fit so snuggly
within my two palms.
eyes still mostly closed
soft baby skin, smooth baby smell,
and I loved her from the very first moment
an unbelievably deep love,
a ready made love
and I couldn't explain this feeling
father and daughter.

standing before an audience
yet oblivious to all around me.
just being aware of the sounds coming
from my throat, and playing through my fingers,
a rush of feeling played down the side of my body
from head to toe
and the band reached a higher plateau,
what is the word for it?
it is hard to describe.
a rush.
but I always feel it when it's about to hit
and then there's the rush.
not quite orgasmic
but close

in the night, seeing the tunnel to God
part of an acid laced encounter
but there it opened up.
the tunnel to the heavens
and my voice quavering
not aloud...but shouting inside of me
shout to the Lord
suddenly aware of His loftiness
and of my lowliness,
and of the connection between us.

finding happiness, after years of loneliness
finding someone who makes me smile.
there she is...the woman who understands me
she's the one I want, but can't have
but she's the one who makes my heart sing
my imagination wanders. Inside my huge mind
I see the blossoms...the unfolding
the discovery. Another of my wonders.

Rosh HaShanah

she takes the time
to speak with God
to show Him her mind
to think of these things.
I told her to ask God about me.
"He knows me pretty well"
maybe God will tell her my answers
maybe she will hear something I cannot.

she takes the time
to listen to God
to hear His mind
in the midst of all that crowds her thoughts,
all that she hears and sees.
she will use the time
to clear away the confusion
maybe she will find her answers
maybe she will hear something she missed before.

she takes the time
to listen to herself
to ponder the questions
to embrace the answers
in the midst of all that we share and embrace
and the things we've avoided saying
maybe she finds what she's really seeking
maybe she helps to guide the Seeker.

magic

it seems like Kaki was choosing to play the right songs
at just the right time.
as we sat at our table in the darkened ambience,
she matched our mood with her fine music.

you and I were ever so close.
your touch, so assuring.
your dark eyes sparkling in the candle light.
I studied the features on your face, more lovely than ever.
it was like you said...Magic!

and your closeness, your face next to mine,
your hand on my cheek, my ear,
my own fingers drawing lines on your face
exploring with my touch,
my lips lightly kissed
your cheek, your ear,
so light, so careful.
breathing the fragrance of your perfume on your neck.
I didn't want to let go.
and as we said our goodnight,
your lips on my cheek
stayed with me on my drive home.

I'm still thinking about the night,
still grasping my feelings
knowing that it was good,
wanting to be with you again.


providing ambience, Kaki King

- listen here -

more kaki here

it was autumn [a memoir]

The woods spread out on all sides, and I had no idea how far off into the distance they reached. I was in a clearing, and I didn't remember how I got there. The leaves had fallen, spreading across the ground. Little hills surrounded the clearing. I was not afraid, just confused about how I ended up being in this place.

Suddenly, I was not alone. There she appeared, across the clearing, calling my name. It was my friend Lynnie. She was about my same age...four years old. It was she who brought me here. She seemed to have known the place, was familiar with it. And I was still amazed that this place even existed.

weakness and strength

I see my Love as the strong woman.
she is wise
she provides for her family and friends
they lean on her for support.

and I see a glimpse on the inside
when she is not so strong
inside the inner sanctum
when she needs someone else to provide
a place where she can lean for support.

when they say "you are so strong"
but she doesn't feel any strength
when they say "you are so wise"
and she feels she has no answers
when they say "she's always there"
and she longs to just get away

this woman shows me.
she may not know it,
but I see inside
I read her story
she's unfolding her life
and pointing at the places
that not many people see
just a few people understand
She shows me her parts
the broken parts
she trusts me with precious things
with the fragile things

and I think...wondering
at this side of my own life that I show her
the face she first saw
the same one I show the world
and like her, I take her inside
and point to my secret places.
and I show her my reality.
I uncover the turmoil
and reveal the uncertainties.
and begin to trust her with my hurts
and my own pieces and parts.
into a place that few people go
and that even fewer understand

so close

We were so close, you and I
I felt your warmth
I looked past your eyes, and
into your soul
I could have sat with you all day
And into the night.

We talked.
You, baring your soul to me
telling me your secret things.
I was delighted and thrilled
to be this close to you.
Your touch, so soft and warm
felt like a transfusion between us.

Since that afternoon, the glow has followed me
and has brightened my days.
I’ve been basking in what transpired,
unable to find adequate words to tell
you how I feel.

And I turned a corner,
I passed a threshold
and entered a new place with you.
It is a place we both recognize
a place we both want to be.
And with this step,
we’ve begun to feel
more familiar, more comfortable
more sure of ourselves.

I have been giving you the sound of my laughter.
You have been giving me the sound of assurance.
I’ve been seeing how wise you are,
in your daily dealings, in your daily life,
seeing more of the woman you are.
the woman who has found a place in this heart.

midnight thoughts

sipping vodka and orange juice
listening to Monte Montgomery
singing love songs
I chatted with my young friend from Texas
and waited here for you
to show your beautiful face.

this life...just wants to give happiness
and to show me just how good it can be
can I hold on to it?
can I see the fine things spread before me?

I am engulfed in the emotion of you
of being with you,
partaking of you,
experiencing you.

In this life, you have shown me
some of the best moments that I've ever experienced.
some of the most happy moments that I've ever had.
I thank you for your presence and your friendship.

I long to to have you near me, always
this feeling within me...that wells up inside.
this vibration that I continually speak of.
this thing that you create in me,
by your attention to me,
by your value of my friendship,
by your love for me...
I thank you for this gift.

that special place

12 hours of sleep!
I didn't realize I was so tired.
now, I'm thankful for this Day of Rest.
and my thoughts are on this woman.
this special lovely woman.

I looked into the pools of her deep dark eyes
I memorized the contour of her face
the smell of perfume on her neck
the soft embrace she gave.

There is that place...that middle ground
the existence that happens when two people communicate
not like strangers standing together
but the communication, ideas and thoughts and understanding
converging in mid air between us
creating a third spot, which I cannot describe
and it is there for us, always.
And yesterday, with presence
the intensity of it so concrete, so tangible
the urge to touch, to hold, to embrace.

despite all,
despite every situation that presents an obstacle
this feeling grows and takes root.

and I wonder, can this feeling get any more intense?
can my insides vibrate more deeply?
I am happy in this place
I am glad at what she brings to me.

no heavy weather

"...For behold, the winter has passed; the rain is over and gone.

The blossoms have appeared in the land, the time of singing has arrived, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.

The fig tree has put forth its green figs, and the vines with their tiny grapes have given forth their fragrance; arise, my beloved, my fair one, and come away."

just fine

You know really...this weather is just fine!!

changes redux

hmmm...funny how the change in weather
affects my own mood.

sometimes its very nice weather
nice cheery...just the right circumstances.
Like seeing the sky on fire
in West Texas, the heavens ablaze
in the setting sun.
High above, stretching off to the horizon.
Everything flows from one high point to the next
smiles all around, everybody optimistic
everybody happy...just basking in the moment
in the confidence that everything is going right.

But other changes...so unexpected
like the dark cold rains
in Waco, Texas, lightning filling the sky
striking all around
no sun, no comfort, no smiles.
floods of water, like floods of emotion
gloom in the sky, like the gloom in the soul.

I've got to be less affected by the weather,
that changes with the direction the wind blows.
Not matter, the rain or the sun;
gotta be steady in what I know and what I feel.
Whether the wind blows up from the south
or from the north...I've got to learn
to not let it affect me and my mood and how I feel

changes

The wind blows, and the weather changes.
Funny how you don't expect it.
At first it can take you by surprise,
but after a while, after you unexpectedly
face the different elements
of the changing weather;
if you look, if you notice,
you can see the patterns
and the patterns repeat themselves.
Then you can know,
then you can prepare,
and not really be surprised
at the change in the weather.

small treasures

Listening to old vinyl records,
some that I've never heard before.
Old treasures at yard sales,
old books and records,
ones I couldn't afford to buy when they were new.
Now, years later, castoffs no longer needed,
but new to my ears...
art I've been putting off for years...
low hanging fruit on my stack of stuff.
My list of things to see,
with the Seven Wonders of The World.

This lazy Saturday afternoon, I'm enjoying these small treasures.
Not the Mona Lisa, or the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel...
those will have to remain high on my list of things to see.


listening to:
Cory Hart's "Boy In The Box"

emotional sleight of hand

My thoughts flow freely. And now, back to religion. Le Eternal created us naked. We were adorned in the way God wanted. No Mistakes. God didn't create us with veiled or capped heads, or foreheads and arms wrapped with phylacteries. God didn't create women with a covering from head to toe. Women were not provided with a wig to cover their natural hair. The Creator didn't hide our genitals behind robes.

So tell me why do humans create these idols, these holy things that the priests say we must adhere to in order be to holy unto the Creator? How can a man construe the beautiful singing voice of a woman as being shameful before men and God? How is it, that a woman's glory is seen as something to be hidden?

I wonder at the way we understand this creation. I wonder at how our little minds insist on misinterpreting the signs of God around us. I wonder at why so-called religious men think that our God-given appetite for the delights of the body are a mistake, to be avoided.

I suppose as a person is fooled by sleight of hand tricks, as if it were magic that they see, so we humans succumb to mental and emotional sleight of hand. We are fooled...by ourselves, or by others. The facts of life are misrepresented or misinterpreted. The ancient Mayans felt that human sacrifice was required to appease their agricultural gods...to insure good harvests and to ward off natural catastrophe. So human lives by the many thousands were offered in blood sacrifice on altars of stone. But not only the Mayans, but the Aztecs, the Incas, the Canaanites, the Hebrews when they were worshipping Moloch, and countless other peoples throughout the ages of history. They thought that God required blood to appease his bloodthirstiness. In reality, we didn't know much about God. We made Him up as we went along. We created idols, based on what we can imagine in our own minds. Some gods were horrific and monstrous. Others were simply ridiculous. Yet, great thought structures evolved around the creation of these gods. From the worship of the penis and the fertility of women, to testosterone fueled war gods...from a strict Jehovah to a benevolent Christ, we've worshipped idols.

Caught in the middle of a life based on religion, many discover the truth for themselves, but never break free. Out of fear of a God, or fear of being ostracized by friends, family and their religious community, they remain trapped in the lie. Although, to live within the structure and world of their religion is often sufficient; only within that world can they thrive. But, these religious worlds, are worlds unto themselves. Everything works withing it's structure, but nothing can come in from the outside.

In our modern cosmopolitan world, this form of religious life falls short. When it is possible to step outside of one's world and to see it from afar...to see it from another viewpoint, then the fallacies become apparent. The generational lies can be seen for what they are. Then, outside of the narrow religious structure, the real universe can be seen as much more huge than one had previously thought. Then, the idea of God is not bound by the box of dogma, and human misunderstanding. Then, the nature of God is boundless, and not restricted by the feebleness of our senses. Then we can become the part of creation that God intended us to be. Then we can partake of life, fully...without the false restrictions that would bind us, victimize us, or kill us.

something I said

This morning, Dear, I saw what I said that had frightened you.
I kind of shocked myself when I read it.
I remember what you said; how my words had affected you.
As I read, I realized I really didn’t mean what it sounded like.
And now I want to let you know…that I don’t want to hem you in,
or smother you, or take your freedom.
not with time and years
I just want you as my friend.
and not a fleeting friend…not a fleeting guest.
just a best friend.

over the road

Jemi, I am learning to navigate your mind
I am learning to see all the parts of you…
all the facets of your life that you present to me
sometimes you baffle me…but then I navigate a little more
and I find out where you are coming from,
deciphering what you say.

You find me here…writing love poems and spinning words
to one I am falling for.
Yet, I meet you on the wire…and you always bring a smile,
always make me think about who lies beyond the miles

You show me Elle…but I know that Elle is you
Sometimes you show me Demi…and she is you too.
You’ve shown me hidden things and delights
And then you are always gone so quickly.
Do you know that I see all the parts of you, the complete person?
I notice your struggle…and your impossible walk in this life.
Thank you for the miles of smiles.

spending time with you

I could have talked to you into the late hours, last night.  
We were touching each other with deep understanding;  
treading into those unknown places.  
We told each other secrets…delightful secrets.
I regret that I had to go,
And that we weren’t free to continue.
But there is time for us.

the substance of love

he talks to her about his life.
his troubles, his experience, his family
he shows her things he's been keeping secret
and as he sees more of her, he's been showing her more of him

In his world, he spins his stories, using his words
to conjure up visions of his life, for her to see.
he cannot touch her fingers, her shoulders, her hair.
he doesn't hold her face in his hands
and kiss her soft moist lips.
he does not bring his hand to her breasts
to find her erect nipples,
nor can he smell her heat, her woman fragrance
he rarely hears her delightfully accented voice.
instead he sees into her soul, and reads her life
he holds up the mirror of his words to her
and lets her see.
he tries to take her doubts and turn them into encouragement
he wants to take her dispair and turn it into hope
thus, he has fallen in Love

She tells him of her life.
She shows him secrets of her own.
she tells him of things he's never known about
and answers his words with her own.
they are muse to each other,
spinning a vivid story of admiration
and desire for love.
but she does not whisper into his ear
she cannot feel her hand in his
she does not even look into his eyes
she cannot feel the roughness of his skin
or the sweat on his palms
she cannot feel his body pressed up against her.
she does not feel him mount her in erotic desire.
she sees his words and stories.
she looks at what he says, about his family
and about his youth, about his life
she loves what is the substance of him.
she sees what comes through the narrow gate
that she has allowed
and she loves him for this part she's seen.
and still she is afraid and uncertain.
she is frightened by the simple things he shows her.

what little they actually have shared.
within the bounds of the world they inhabit...
with the pitiful means with which they communicate.
what can flouish if there are no boundaries.
what would there be with touch, taste and smell?
what would there be with real presence?

he questions..."what does she love? what is unique?
what is different? what do I love?"
what remains for them to discover?
a world...a universe.
even within these parameters?
they've only touched the surface.
thus the wariness...the scariness?
they both have questions they do not ask
they both tread a new path they've not taken before.

what we made

I thought I had made the step, to turn a corner.
But I still reread her words
still, I gaze at her photographs.
I try to read her mind
to figure out what she feels and thinks,
to figure out her reasons why.

I wish she would call
I hope she writes
so I can kiss her mind again,
so my soul can touch her's again,
so that I can hold the things she gave me once again,
so that I can hold up my emotions
and say "This one is Love"
and of another, "This one is Understanding"
and "This one is Happiness."

and I imagine that she will do the same
and wonder what we had wrought
and see what was spontaneously created.

when worlds collide

I just left her,
I met her in our place
no one can see where we meet.
it's there, and not there
she's knows what I mean

I am so happy, this feeling
this understanding.
and she knows I understand
she knows I see.
she knows I wait.

this love is growing.
it is unlike any I've felt
the understanding, the recognition of each other
even though we are worlds apart
this place we now share
is our common ground

so now, I retire for the night
with so many pleasant thoughts on my mind
but how can I ever sleep?
I can't stop this vibration in my heart
this roaring in my chest.

because she understands me and mine
she is seeing my original face.
I love her.

speaking in tongues

I just spoke with you.
A short chat, a few words
as you told me about your evening
I am vibrating, from my throat
through my chest, and out to my arms

I want to speak, but I don't know what to say.
in an earlier time my emotion would be flowing
through my fingertips, out of my lips
my emotions would be sated
my thirst would be slaked.

I would be telling God about you
in a language he understands
my fingers plucking strings
and my voice rising and letting
the depth of my soul pour forth.

now I struggle to grab my thoughts
and define what they are,
then place them here, for all to see.

now, I write words to myself
in my private journal
I spill my guts and order my thoughts
writing myself long letters
explaining how I feel

I'm holding these emotions in my hands
tightly, i'm holding these feelings
and treasuring them
ever wondering, about you.
always you.

how outlook changes

Funny . . . how my situations change my outlook.
Interesting . . .how my words turn
from the quest for the hope of mankind
to describing the look of her deep, dark eyes.

From finding the vastness of God’s universe
to enjoying the vastness of her inquiring mind.

From posting my so-called insights to the world
to showing my peacock feathers for her attention.
Funny…my outlook on things

a day dream

[Flying from Chicago to Philadelphia over the weekend, this tale came to me in such a strong way, that I couldn't contain it. I borrowed a pen and a couple of clean napkins from the flight attendant, and began to write. This is my day dream.]


It was in an instant that she felt it. The force of the realization was overwhelming. Laying in bed, resting, after her typical long day; she was overwhelmed with his presence. These weren't the normal thoughts of him that she experienced. This was a rush of knowledge and emotion...of understanding. She suddenly knew what he'd been trying to say to her these past months. She remembered his words as he explained his life, his feelings, his needs and wants. Through these weeks she struggled with who he was and why their paths had even crossed. But now, this sudden realization, this whirlwind of intimacy, like nothing she had even experienced...she now understood. In the twinkling of an eye, she saw beneath the iceberg tips of his thoughts. She saw the world behind his eloquent words. And tears flooded her eyes as she found it hard to catch her breath. She wondered at this imagination. Was it just her imagination? She saw the sadness and the hurt. She saw the moments of horror and shame. She felt the elation and heights of happiness. She was flooded with his desire. She knew his failure and success. And she wondered. How could she know this? What is this rapture?

He did not see this coming. This was a total surprise. But then, a realization of the inevitable. He never thought the end would be like this; so quick, so abrupt, so final. He couldn't feel the slamming of his body, the ripping of limbs, the crushing of bone. There was no time to feel. It was all over in a matter of seconds.

And as he left the scene, he realized what he saw, and how he saw...now, without eyes to see, or nose to smell, or ears to hear. Yet his new senses flooded him with an instant expansion of his being. He was out of a box, no more confined.

He went to her, instantly to her. And he entered her. In the most complete and intense way, his soul intertwined hers. And he knew her. He knew her names. He saw what she felt and understood the colors of her life. All of the shadows and uncertainty were gone. He saw past her eyes, into her very spirit. He saw her life and the delicate balance of the things she carried. He now knew what she meant, and why she had been here, and why their paths had crossed. He realized this would be the only way for him to see past the iceberg tips of her thoughts and emotions. He saw her joy and pain. He understood her struggles and triumphs. He felt her uncertainty and doubt. And he knew her never ending discovery, and how knowledge continually expanded her mind. He saw her happiness. And he spread himself through her and entered every part of her being. He shared his life with her. In an instant their spirits had joined completely. And then he was gone.

every morning

every morning she bikes to the train station
she arrives, winded from her ride.
cool shades, rough blonde hair,
sweaty and blowing in the breeze.
she sheds her backpack, shrugging it off,
catching the cool breeze against her
overheated body.
I notice erect, braless nipples,
taut against the sweat dampened fabric
of her under armour sports shirt;
some mornings, more erect and sensual then on others.
this morning, it must have been an especially rigorous bike ride.
I look up from The Reader,
we look at each other and say hellos, like every morning;
and as always, I can't help but notice
her erect nipples and perfectly shaped breasts.
She goes on to do her post-ride stretches and cool down,
her leg high on the nearby hand rail
stretching her body, reaching her hands
to touch her toes.
first one leg, then the other.
I put my sunglasses back on
and walk to my spot, preparing to board the train.

God Hates You

Today's news...so-called Christians protesting at a military funeral,
bringing an anti-gay message. They say that God is punishing America
for harboring gays. They say "God Hates Fags", "God Hates You"
(read story here)

I am so tired of people being so stupid and so gullible as to believe in stuff that they just make up. I'm so tired of people being so naive, that they believe folk tales and fantastic stories as if such is actually truth. I am tired of how ancient tales are taken as truth...just because they are ancient.

I am so tired of the troubles of this world being directly tied to religion.

Today I read a story about a Christian boy, who was taken as a slave, in Sudan. And his Muslim master crucified him with nails, because he dared to sneak away at night and worship with his fellow Christians. How do we put up with this, in a world that is supposedly enlighted...supposedly beyond medevial ideas.

I'm tired of hearing of Muslims killing other muslims because they don't believe in the correct form of Islam. I'm tired of Muslims thinking that God allows them to murder the people of the world in His name.

I'm tired of exclusionary religious practices by members of various religions, because they are convinced that only their group has a pipeline to God. Fundamentalist Christians against liberal; Orthodox Jews again reformed. Baptist Christians against Roman Catholic, fringe believers with their ignorant understanding of what their religion even teaches. Monolithic belief systems that exclude the rest of the world.

I've been there...I've believed that way. I believed in the voice in the burning bush, I believed in the infallibility of the letters and books of the early church, I believed that God talked to my sheperd. I believed what my shepherd taught me. I believed that my small group were the only ones who knew the truth of God. I had blind faith. Because I feared God and his punishement. I had blind faith because I was seeking for the truth of the universe.

Yet, now...I can't understand the hate that is thrown out, in the name of God. As if the Creator is the hater. And I can't understand how the so-called shepherds, pastors, and teachers, preach such hate...as if they were God's oracles.

But it won't end. Lies of Life will continue to be taught as the Truth...from father to son. Tied in with family traditions, with justification of jihads and crusades. Men will continue to be gullible, and never seek the answers for themselves...who never even think of what the logical truth is. And even in their fanatical zeal, they will revel and relish in the base animal behavior they practice because they blindly believe that this is God's way. That is his God's reward. That they are entitled to enslave, and burden, and kill, in God's name.

imitation of life

today I am invisible.
at first I didn't notice it,
then, at the library, I see a person I'm invisible to,
daily, on my train commute.
"Hi, don't I know you from the train?" never came out of my mouth
because I still wasn't there.

invisible, because there's no reason to notice,
because in real life, I'm in the background
with the buildings, and the grass and the trees.
not the correct size, shape, age, color for the moment.

sometimes I'm a phantom, coming in and out of focus...
reminds me of an old video by Sting;
"If You Love Somebody",
Marsalis is practically invisible all the time.
he only comes into focus when he plays his sweet sax.


at the dollar store, I become briefly opaque at the check out.
"Hi, how are you today?" asks the check out girl
(appears slightly see-through)
"Fine. How are you doing today?"
(comes into focus)
"I'm doing good." She rings me up.
I look at her badge.
"Have a nice day." she says, making eye contact.
"You have a great day too, Margaret." with a smile. She smiles back.
I am suddenly visible, in the real world, if for a moment.


this imitation
this half life
this place where I meet other people and we exchange looks at each other's masks;
this refuge from real life that,
for me, isn't real life,
it's a lack of life.
in here, I live the imitation of life
in here, I'm not invisible. I command attention by my mastery of the medium. I build scenes with my words. I construct a simulacrum of the real world; and those seeking their own refuge, their own imitation, they see this mask, and forget, that this is not all of me.

rarely you see my face, my real eyes, hear my real voice.
you think you may know me. But there really is more to me than this avatar.

as a voyeur, I see the real life...the physical life
the interactions on that other plane.
I wonder how is that accomplished?
what is the key? and why can't I find it?


I look at my life circumstances, and the life that has not gone the way
I would have expected.
Making the most out of bad situations; grasping happiness where I can find it; holding on to it until the last shred of hope flitters away, through my fingers.
never learning how to grasp, and hold and handle; too anxious, too soon, too strong, too wrong, and then back to the shelter of my inner safe place.
walls rebuilt, defenses laid, back in the high tower.

[mask photographs copyright © 2005 by Elizabeth McCune and used with permission]

voice on the wire

drinking merlot from a coffee cup
making macaroni and cheese with hot dogs,
its an easy supper.
listening to Bruce and his Spider Fingers,
trying to put all of these thoughts and feelings in order.

I sent you a love letter this morning,
then I sent you a plea for understanding
in the early morning I was in love
in the early afternoon I was in love and afraid.

you are standing before me, holding new life in your hands
your doors of perception have been altered and reborn
and you are reveling in life as you have never experienced it.

I knocked at your door, and you let me in.
we talked in your foyer, you getting to know me
looking at me and seeing who I was.
Now, we've stepped a little beyond that.

I fear I will remain the voice on the wire
looking into the window of your life,
hoping that you will really open the door
and show me all of you.

you give big pieces of your heart to me.
and you show me other I don't know what to do with.
because those pieces are really not mine.
now they belong to someone else.

so many questions run in this mind
so many ideas, as I surmise situations
and try to figure out the facts.
And when I do and show them to you
we are afraid to speak them
for in speaking them,
the implications tied to them will surface
and things will happen. Things you don't want to happen.

you mention time, in our 100 years to live.
but that is me, chasing the years
looking back on the 20 I've wasted
my twenty-year scar has disappeared and I want to live
and I want to experience those years knowing you,
not as the voice on the wire
or the spinner of eloquent words on pages;
but the person who holds your face in his hands
and looks you in the eyes
and sees into your soul
and understands your spirit
as you understand mine. Ani ohev atach.

100 Years

[by Five for Fighting]
- listen -

I'm 15 for a moment
Caught in between 10 and 20
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

I'm 22 for a moment
She feels better than ever
And we're on fire
Making our way back from Mars

15… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose
15…there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live…

I'm 33 for a moment
Still the man but you see I'm a they
A kid on the way
A family on my mind

I'm 45 for a moment
The sea is high
And I'm heading into a crisis
Chasing the years of my life

15… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to lose yourself
Within a morning star

15… I'm all right with you
15… there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live…

Half time goes by
Suddenly you’re wise
Another blink of an eye
67 is gone
The sun is getting high
We're moving on...

I'm 99 for a moment
Dying for just another moment
And I'm just dreaming
Counting the ways to where you are

15… there's still time for you
22… I feel her too
33… you’re on your way
Every Day's a new Day

15… there's still time for you
Time to buy and time to choose
Hey 15… there's never a wish better than this
When you only got 100 years to live

little jewels

Like little jewels, they come
Over the wire, through the ether,
through her fingers,
sent from her heart to mine.

“...Thy words are as delicious to my heart
as the first droppings of the honeycomb are to the palate.”

Classified

Chapter 1 of the story I can never seem to finish.

Maybe posting it for you will spur me on to greater heights. Fiction that found it’s seed in truth. Both mine and theirs.

thanks to My Special Friend for guiding me to fixing the paragraph about John and his siblings, and their ages.

---------<cut here> ----------------

--------

FOR SALE: Estate Settlement - must sell to settle estate. 1976 Cadillac Fleetwood Brougham 60 Special. only 32,000 miles-pristine cond. genuine leather upholstery, am/fm, cruise, loaded. $12,000 firm. must see.

---------

John looked at what he wrote, puzzling over the sound of the ad. Did it sound right? This was something he had never expected to write. He never thought he'd be here, in St. Mary's, a place he'd only visited in his childhood. Vague memories of family reunions, memories of great uncles and great aunts, smiles and hugs all around. The memory of Uncle Sid, standing there with that ever-present cigarette with a quarter inch of ash. John used to always think "Use the ashtray!". He'd always felt the urge to knock off that ash himself.

Uncle Sid, holding a cigarette and his glass of pilsner. Sid was John's mother's brother, the youngest in a clan of 8 children. He'd passed away years before. John had not had to deal with that death. Not like today.

John was the oldest son of his own family. One brother and two sisters. Alan was younger than him by four years. Katherine and Lora were both older than John. Katherine was closest to his age, there being only fourteen months difference. Lora was the oldest of the siblings, being four years than John.

John's mind continued to pore over the thoughts of family, one thought flowing into the next, opening the door to story after story, memory upon memory. His missed those reunions. He and Katherine were practically twins, inseparable. But not now. So much time had passed. Too much bad history, too many burned bridges.

Now he wondered how he was going to handle this. His mother now gone; everyone so worried about the money; everyone wanting their little share...their piddly portion of what's left.

Hurrying now, to get this ad into the papers before the deadline, John stood quickly as the commuter train came to a stop. Jostling to get through the door and onto the platform, he suddenly felt something hit him on the back of the head.

"Hey, you forgot your hat!" she called. Quickly turning, he looked back into the car. The blonde stood, palms up, shrugging her shoulders. She had a sheepish look on her face as she mouthed words he could not hear. But he read her lips. "Sorry. You forgot your hat."

---------end of story to far---------------

could I even describe it?

there is a feeling that I find hard to describe
she told me about chords, inside
emotions that strike a chord.
inner music, a deep vibration.
it's the only way to describe the feeling
vibrating on each side of my rib cage.
into my arms, radiating to my shoulders
to rest in my chest.
and this feeling has with it
a familiarity, a memory
of comfort and peacefulness
a softness and a fragrance,
a slow breathing that seems
to breath through my whole body

It is hard to describe this feeling.
I just know I like how I feel.

early train

I’m taking the early train again.  Liz is back in school and starting earlier.  So these are all new faces that I don’t know.  A young EMT boards and sits across the aisle on the upper deck.  I want to make eye contact, to get her attention.  I want to point to my wrist and give a smile of approval…of the claddagh tattoo that wraps around her wrist, like a band.  She doesn’t look around.  She only looks down, at her immediate space.  She begins to put on her makeup, eyeliner, blush, lipstick.  She transforms her herself from plain Jane into Jane.  I wait, looking to see if her glance comes this way.  But she is guarded.  Her glances look shy and she makes no eye contact with anyone.


She takes a wrist watch out of her bag and buckles it on her wrist.  The watch neatly covering the tattoo, hiding it from view.  Then she closes her eyes to sleep.

faux birthdays

Weekend was nice and easy.  I picked up Liz at the airport last night.  She had a fun time with her mom and aunt.  They won money at the casino,  then had dinner at The Rain Forest Cafe.

“We told them it was my birthday”, Liz said.  

She and her mom have this game.  When they go to a new restaurant, they always say it is one of their birthday.  Just to see what happens…to see what the restaurant does for birthday girls.  The last time Liz and I went to Bubba Gump’s at Navy Pier it was her birthday.  About six months too early!  So the wait staff all came and did their birthday song and brought the birthday treat.  It was fun.

So, about birthday at the Rain Forest…
Liz: ”They brought the best Ice Cream Volcano I ever had!”
Marc: “You mean, the ONLY Ice Cream Volcano you’ve ever had.”
Liz: “Shutup” <wink>

Late night

Late night chats, we talk, beginning to share time.  She shows me scripture.  A little glimpse of her life.  And I like it.  I am enjoying seeing what she is made up of.  I show her me.  I remember things and share with her slices of me that I haven’t thought of in years.  She is my muse.  She gets me to thinking.  And my thoughts swirl and I grab them and put them on to this paper.

Forest

Today I went to the woods. It's been a while since I've been in the trees. But now I hear the familiar sounds of the wind blowing through the leaves. All around me I hear it. I always thought it was like the trees were saying "trees" very softly. You have to listen and imagine.

These are the Forest Preserve woods, in the Chicago area, unlike the forests of my youth. Here I see empty bottles and cans on the ground. I hear the traffic noises of the highways that surround this forest preserve. But I can smell the fragrance of the woods, the growing things, the earth. Under a canopy of tall trees, it is cool here. The breeze blows and the heat of the sun is blocked from my skin.

My Dear, have you ever been to the forest? Do you ever get there to hear the cicadas in the tops of the trees, their sound blending in with the sound of the wind rustling the leaves? Sunlight breaks through the foliage, creating lighter shades of green against the darker greens in the shade of the trees.

I remember being in the woods, and just sitting, listening, and pondering. One day I was in the forest in California. Back in the days when I was an itinerant preacher of sorts, a member of the cult.

I was in the forest, reading the scriptures. And just sitting and looking and waiting. And I was so quiet and still. I heard a noise approaching. I remained still…then I saw a large turtle walking through the underbrush, making noise as she pushed her way through the leaves on the ground. I was delighted. I watched as the turtle slowly walked through my little clearing and moved out of sight.

In that California forest, I sat, and in a little while, I heard more rustling in the brush. I kept very still and quiet. A flock of quail came poking along, their heads bobbing. They were just walking along...about six of them. Looking for worms, I guess. I knew my day was special upon seeing the creatures pass my way, and paying me no mind.

Another day in a different forest...I was walking along a path and I came upon a few small deer. I was about thirty yards away from them. They saw me and I stopped and sat down in the middle of the pathway. The lead deer stared at me. Then I was amazed at his actions. He made as if he was walking towards me. He moved his legs and it looked like he was walking...but he wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't moving. He stopped and looked at me. Then he did it again. I was perfectly still and quiet, I didn't move. The deer repeated his actions, again appearing to walk towards me, but not moving. I assumed he was testing me, to see what I'd do. I remained still and the deer tried to fool me a third time. Then he turned and with the other deer began to run off. I jumped up and chased after them, but they were too fast. I could not catch them.

The forest preserve here in Chicagoland is different from some places I've been. One of my favorite places in the world is Mount Lemmon, outside of Tucson, AZ. This mountain is in a range of mountains, It is about a 30 mile drive from the foot of the mount to the top, where the hamlet of Mt. Lemmon is. Mt. Lemmon is a ski resort village. At the foot of the mountains is desert and cactus and dry brown landscape. As you travel up the mountain road, the scenery gets gradually different. It changes from cactus to small scrub oaks to larger oaks and finally to alpine forest the higher up in elevation you get.


And it is so quiet. There are no sound of crickets or cicadas in the trees. And when the wind in not blowing, it is utter silence. You can hear the blood rushing in your inner ear. It was a new experience for me. And at night, the sky is so black. No light pollution like we see in Chicago. And the stars! You have never seen so many stars. You look and it is as if some one splattered white paint against the night sky. You can see the Milky way, shooting stars and all of the constellations. When the moon is out, you can read by moonlight.


In a place called Molino basin I used to love walking up the wash. Molino Basin is the first canyon that you encounter in your trip up Mount Lemmon. There is a state park campground there. I used to camp there for weeks, with my religious companions. I remember when I didn't know what a wash was. I learned that out west, a wash is a dry creek bed that fills with water when the spring thaw melts the winter snow on the mountain tops, and the water flows downstream. Also, when heavy rains come, the wash turns into a flowing creek or river. When I was in Molino Basin, the wash was partially filled with flowing water. But it wasn't flowing at full strength.

I enjoyed walking in the middle of the wash, going upstream, up the mountain, as far as I could. Making sure that no sisters were around, I would get naked and take a refreshing cold shower in one of the water falls; or just lay in a pool of water in the winter Arizona sunshine. The mountain water was so clean and clear.

I sure like to go back there someday.

the forest

Today I went to the woods. It's been a while since I've been in the trees. But now I hear the familiar sounds of the wind blowing through the leaves. All around me I hear it. I always though it was like the trees were saying "treees" very softly. You have to listen and imagine.

These are the Forest Perserve woods, in the Chicago area, unlike the forests of my youth. Here I see empty bottles and cans on the ground. I hear the traffic noises of the highways that surround this forest preserve. But I can smell the fragrance of the woods, the growing things, the earth. Under a canopy of tall trees, it is cool here. The breeze blows and the heat of the sun is blocked from my skin.

Have you ever been to the forest? Do you ever get there to hear the cicadas in the tops of the trees, their sound blending in with the sound of the wind rustling the leaves? Sunlight breaks through the trees, creating lighter shades of green against the darker greens in the shade of the trees.

I remember being in the woods, and just sitting, listening, and pondering. One day I was in the forest in California. Back in the days when I was an itinerent preacher of sorts, a member of the cult.

I was in the forest, reading the bible. And just sitting and looking and waiting. And I was so quiet and still. I heard a noise approaching. I remained still and then I saw a large turtle walking through the underbrush, making noise as she pushed her way through the leaves on the ground. I was delighted. I watched as the turtle slowly made her way through my little clearing and moved out of sight.

I sat and sat, and in a little while, I heard more rustling in the brush. I kept very still and quiet. And a flock of quail came poking along, their heads bobbing. they were just walking along...about six of them. Looking for worms, I guess. I knew my day was special upon seeing the creatures pass my way, and paying me no mind.

Another day in that same forest...I was walking along a path and I came upon a few small deer. I was about thirty yards away from them. They saw me and I stopped and sat down in the middle of the pathway. The lead deer stared at me. Then I was amazed at his actions. He made as if he was walking towards me. He moved his legs and it looked like he was walking...but he wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't moving. He stopped and looked at me. Then he did it again. I was perfectly still and quiet, I didn't move. The deer repeated his actions, again appearing to walk but not moving. I assumed he was testing me, to see what I'd do. I remained still and the deer tried to fool me a third time. Then he turned and the other deer began to run off. I jumped up and began to chase them, but they were too fast.

The forest preserve

morning that lasts all afternoon

Elizabeth is off in Philadelphia. I'm home alone this weekend, wondering what to do with myself.

This morning started out slowly, groggily. Still too sleepy from late night sipping of Southern Comfort...which really wasn't a comfort. I got up in time to get ready for my doctor's appointment. Showered...and then decided to wear my Harry Potter "Seeker" T-shirt.
Maroon colored with the word SEEKER on the front in gold letters. New blue jeans and walking shoes.

I got to the doctor's office and that was when my day got brighter.
There are a few people in this world who always make me smile...among others, The Smiling Girl, YOU, my daughter...and my doctor.

The doctor's visit started out good, when the nurse asked me my age.
"Fifty two" I said, and her eyes got big.
"Gee, you look much younger than that", she said.
OK...I think I'll keep this nurse!


I like my doctor so much. When she sees me, it is always with the biggest smile. She always tells me that it's so good to see me. I talk to her on a good level. It is friendly, never condescending, like it is with some doctors. On my first day at my new doctor's office in chicagoland...the first time I saw her...I was her first also. Her first patient at that office. And she was the first female who touched me "there" in a few years. She always remembers that I was her first patient.

So, my checkup was good. Everything checked out fine. That was a relief. My doc put a big smile on my face, as usual. And, as usual, she kept asking me if I had any more questions. And as always, I never say what is on the tip of my tongue: "Would you like to go out for coffee sometime?" As she put her hand on my shoulder and told me again it was good to see me, I said to myself. "umm, no, I better not ask."

I left the office stepping into a cool morning. The breeze was blowing and I was feeling good about the day. That was when I decided to drive to the Lake Shore. So I stopped and filled up the tank, got a cup of coffee, and smoked half of a cigar, pretending I was getting high. (Shhh...don't tell my doctor. she knows I don't smoke and I don't drink much). I felt good, smiling to myself, and at the pan handler at the stop light.


While driving up I-55, I reflected on the morning. I felt that this was one of those days, when you just know the Creator is ordering your footsteps. Well, that may or may not be true. But it was a good thought. I drove with the windows down, letting the morning air wash over me. I reached Lake Shore Drive and turned south. I drove, looking for The Point, thinking of you. I imagined seeing you, running by. But I knew you were resting on this day.

I turned the car around and began to drive north on Lake Shore, past the city. The beaches were all crowed with thousands of people waiting to see the Air Show. And my good mood began to change. I thought of those thousands, out for a nice afternoon. People out with real families, with real friends. and I thought of me, in the midst of these millions in this city. And I really am lost in Chicago.

Well, why can't I have a real family? I wondered. I have one, don't I? Not quite. [edited]

[I think of much that happend...another story for another time.] And it was one more cut at a marriage that died.

Driving on, I shook myself out of that reverie. Still looking at the friends and families on the Lake Shore, regretting the change in my fine mood. My thoughts now running a mile a minute.

So, I continued driving and I decided to just drive north along Sheridan Road, on the Circle Tour. Thinking of your recent road trip, thinking how I, again, was traveling on your roads.

My mood began to change for the better as I drove. Driving through Rogers Park reminded me of Mt. Lebanon, PA near Pittsburgh. And of Pittsburgh's Oakland section. I started to have a familiar nostalgic feeling. I drove past all the big houses in Evanston and Wilmette. I like the drive. But I felt like I'm in alien territory. The million dollar houses. I wonder of the people here. Then I crossed the city limits into Winnetka and instantly the homes are double in size. The million dollar homes are now five million dollar mansions. The only non-Caucasian people I see, are the Mexican gardeners. Earlier I had crossed Kenilworth Ave. Now I thought and found ironic. Perhaps these Mexican gardeners traveled 30 miles from their end of Kenilworth, in Berwyn, here to the wealthy end of the same street, to work for the rich people.

Through the open windows of the car, I smell the trees. It is the same summer smell I knew as a boy back in Ohio. I hear the song of the locusts and cicadas in the trees. I know that sound. It's not from wealthy bugs in the wealthy part of town. They are the same as my bugs. The trees...they are the same. The grass.. just as green. The summer smell just as fragrant. The same in wealthy Winnetka as it is on the South Side of Chicago...as it is in Palos Hills, as it was in Ohio.

I started to think of the places I have been...the people I've met. I think of the trees and grass in the parks and by-ways I have slept in, when I was in the religious cult. And I remember people. Somehow a memory of one time...me and another young man and young woman...behind a super grocery store, in some state somewhere. Memory is dim. I do remember the grandmother. Maybe in her late fifties or her sixties. She was behind the grocery also, with her granddaughter. She had a German accent. She was also looking for food. Searching for the whole foods, fruits, vegetables, dented canned goods, that so many grocery chains dump daily. Food that is past the expiration date, but good enough for today's meal. And I felt like I was intruding. I was a traveler...and this was a regular stop for her. I jumped into the dumpster and retrieved the good items...all the good fruits and vegetables. And I gave them to her. I don't think she could believe it. The look on her face. I think she was prepared to let this strange young man go first, then she and her granddaughter would see what was left. She cried. But there was enough food for everybody.

My thoughts came back to the present. Continuing my drive, I began to see signs for garage sales. Well, what on earth does one find at a rich-people garage sale? I was surprised to find that they are the same. The rich folks with BMW's in their drive way, and a yard sale going on beside their million dollar home; pretty much sells the same stuff for the same price that normal lower-middle class people sell at their garage sales. So, for a dollar, I picked up a copy of the Penguin Classic "EURIPIDES: MEDEA and Other Plays"

I drove and drove. Through all the wealthy north shore towns, determined to just drive all day. Yet, all of these thoughts were milling around in my head. So I had to stop and purchase a notebook and ink pen. I had to write. I checked my email from my cell phone. There was no word from you. Maybe later.

Driving further north, I ended up in Waukegan. I've never been here before. My young friend Sarah told me that it is like Aliquippa, PA. And it is.

The scenery changed. From million dollar mansions to a lower-middle class city. From manicured lawns and front yard sculptures to signs advertising pay-day loans, car title loans, car lots with approval for everybody, even those with bad credit. Such a change in scenery. From towns where the only way the blacks and Mexicans are there, are as a gardener or some other menial laborer, to the town that these people call home.

Today I felt a spectrum of feelings from tired, to extremely happy, to bitter and sad, to satisfied. And all through the day, you have entered my thoughts. I thought of you, on this day of rest, hoping you are indeed taking advantage of the day.

It's getting late. I'm going to drive home now. Maybe I'll rent Love Actually tonight...or maybe I'll just drive some more.

no fleeting guest

you have captured me and I don't see any letting go.
There is nothing fleeting here.
I wish I had the perfect life to give you
the perfect solutions;
to be able to fill that which is lacking in your life
if only you'd let me try

I see you for who you are...and I see your place in this life
and still, I want to be near you.

I see how you befriended me
and show me love
you accepted my mind, and my heart
and understood what was within me;
despite my station here in life
and my hopeless situation.

Today my heart sunk with fear that you will disappear
and that all of this will just fall through my fingers
before I can get a good grasp on your love.

My tendancy to go too far too fast,
to try to hold onto what I think is mine,
has not worked out the way I want it to.

Please be patient with me,
as I'm making my way through uncharted territories.

your thoughts won't go away. What you write to me are cherished
jewels that I look over again and again.
they are moments I replay in my mind, savoring the memory
of the small glimpse of you I have experienced.

I am amazed that in this short time, that my feelings
have grown so...like a cedar of lebanon

I need you to show me
your mind
your heart
your soul

I need for you to see me where I am
and to take my hand.
regardless of the circumstances
and the situations.

I want to understand you completely
and accept you completely

Do no be frightened when I say
I Love You

I need to talk to you

My Dearest...really, I do.

-Marc

rehearsing for the weekend

Millennium Park, lunch time
the symphony is rehearsing in the amphitheater
the music, soft
a counterpoint to the sounds of the city
and the roar of the air show jets, rehearsing in the sky above.
people rehearsing today...for the weekend.
I guess in a way, I am too.

Sounds of the symphony in front of me,
the lovely French accent of the sales woman, behind me
sounds of wild insects in the park, all around me
the sun is bright
my brisk walk has quelled some of my anxiety
a time for my mind to take a break from thinking too much

I think this is the first yellow apple I've eaten all summer.
Delicious.

chords

These chords inside, the ones you told me about, they are playing a tune
that is filled with yearning and confusion. Yearning for what can’t be. Even though you and I may want this, there are too many forces and circumstances against it. Mainly, the forces that are already a part of your own heart.

You don’t want to say it, and I don’t want to ask it of you…to relinquish a large piece of your heart, your life.

Once, The Poet’s Wife told me that she is not unattainable…just taken.
You are unattainable.

I was taken by your advertisement. I should have paid attention to the fine print. I should have read in between the lines.

I won’t play with your emotions.
I won’t toy with your mind.
I won’t let confusion enter our lives.

The feeling will subside.
New chords will be played.
For you, old familiar chords.
For me, I’m not sure.

ily

this morning
what she told me, the very words
I've been thinking but was afraid to speak.
She spoke them to me
and I was breathless.

I am thinking of her
and what this all means.
There are the thoughts
the understanding
and our trying to put into words
what we feel
what this must be.

this medium...is too clunky
my words here are not eloquent enough
to explain my heart and mind to her;
these words are flat.
oh, that I could turn magic phrases
with language that would enter the heart.
from my pen, from my fingers, into her mind
with clarity and understanding

This medium...dimensionless,
full of misunderstanding and misinterpretation
questions, about what we both really mean.

But this medium is my domain
I am king here. I create here.
I move my thoughts from my mind to this page
to let her glimpse who I am, and what I feel.
She answers me in kind, giving me words
from her heart. The reading of what is on her mind
like the writer once said "like a long kiss".

only as close as I can

I missed you today.
busy for both of us...the business of work
getting things done.

driving home from the book store
I sent you some words
and I looked at your moon,
wondering if you were looking too.
we live in the same city
we travel the same streets.
we share the heat of the same sun.
seems that's as close as I can get.

both sides now

for my Special Friend

BOTH SIDES, NOW by Joni Mitchell

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons ev'rywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on ev'ryone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As ev'ry fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living ev'ry day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

All music published by Siquomb Publishing Corp.,
55 Liberty Street, New York, N.Y 10005 - BMl
Lyrics copyright by and reprinted
with the permission of
Siquomb Publishing Corp.

morning thoughts

The Smiling Girl is sitting across the aisle from me…on the lower level. I haven’t spoken to her in about a week or so. She didn’t notice me as I called her name. Her earphones in place...she’s listening to her music, her style.

But my mind is on you. I am going over what you told me last night. Replaying the emotion, considering the things you said. What I said. I see the place where we are headed, and the apprehension to even go there.

Things, so delicate that I must hold them lightly,
lest they crumble and fall through my hands.

As a child, my mother would tell me stories of fairies and leprechauns.
“You can only see them out of the corner of your eye”, she’d say.

And I’d look for the beings from the fairy world.
And I swore I could get a glimpse...just for a moment.
I would turn my head, fast,
only to find that the image was gone.

The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven

[upon remembering my own Father...there, yet not there.]

wisdom from "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven"
and the movie "Smoke Signals"
by Sherman Alexie

American Indian Thomas Builds-the-fire, story teller and Suzy

Thomas: "How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a dream? Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often...or forever...when we were little? Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all. Do we forgive our fathers for marrying, or not marrying our mothers? Or divorcing, or not divorcing our mothers? And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth, or coldness? Shall we forgive them for pushing or leaning, for shutting doors, for speaking through walls? or never speaking, or never being silent? Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs? Or in their deaths...saying it to them, or not saying it? If we forgive our fathers, what is left?"

- AND -

Thomas: So, I told you a story, now it's your turn."

Suzy: "What...you want lies or do you want the truth?"

Thomas: "I want both."

the wheels of life

This day was a pleasant one. This morning I listened to the songs of life. I listened to songs of struggle and pain, of people with more questions than answers.

I listened to the little philosophers and their statements about fathers and families and God...about the shortness of life, the burdens of the years and the yearning to escape those burdens and to be free. Free to love, and think, and live.

This day was a good one, of looking out the windows on a rainy day...and reflecting on the questions and answers, and how I feel about where I've been, where I am, and the road upon with I am traveling in this life.

This day I reflected on the good feeling that is engulfing me...despite all the bad things. Because those things don't rob me of what I'm enjoying.

I thought of my inquiring friend. This day I left off some chains and forsook the bad. I got rid of a yoke, I brushed away some tears and talked to God.

This one

[written about 3 weeks ago] Wed. July 20, '05 7:52 a.m. Metra

I was surprised at your look,
because it was towards me.
I wondered at the interest that
   I raised in you
Here I was, wearing my heart
   on my sleeve
And my words were ones
   that caught your eye,
       made you look again.

Getting to know you is a happy unfolding.
   layers are being pulled back.
   Your complex thoughts are being slowly revealed
       and the feeling is a comfort.

Reminds me of many years ago
   in my youth.
My elfin friend, calling my name
  daily, at my doorstep she called
She did not knock on my door
She came seeking me to sit and talk
   or to just sit and be there.
That was comfort...friendship without an agenda
    just two people who liked each other.

world of mine

written by Phil Keaggy

everybody wants to know exactly how it feels
to be in this place
well I don't know
I've been wondering myself
everytime I go
I want to tell you about everything I've seen
I want to tell you about everyplace I've been
I haven't even known what it means to
walk in these shoes of mine

standing on the corner watching as the world goes by
sometimes I connect and sometimes I reflect and cry
I see myself in a wounded heart
all by myself in a crowded bar
to find a flicker in this fallen dark world of mine

for a moment you seem like strangers
Exchange a few words and suddenly you share the same heartbeat
they look deep into your eyes, they ask
does God hear me anymore?
why have I been denied?

You want to tell me about every broken dream
you want to tell me about all the pain you seen

you say
you haven't even known what it means to walk in these shoes of mine
but I'm trying
standing on the corner watching as the world goes by
sometimes I connect and sometimes I reflect and cry
I see myself in a wounded heart
and be of help if I can do my part
to be a flicker in this fallen dark world of mine

in here

I wave my magic wand
in a swirling motion around my feet,
wave it in a circle around my space.
and the magic sparkles arise
coalescing into an opaque barrier
guarding my heart
my headphones are turned up
the world is outside.

As Far As I Know - by Paul Westerberg

As Far As I Know
by Paul Westerberg

- listen -


I'm in love with someone that doesn't exist
Keep looking for them everywhere I go
I'm in love with something that doesn't get kissed
It doesn't exist
As far as I know

I'm in love with a face that I've never seen
Once upon a place long time ago
I'm in love with a time that never took place
That's easy to trace
As far as I know
And I know everything that I need to sing
I know everything

I'm in love with the sound that I never hear
As long as I watch your TV show
I'm in love with that girl that doesn't resist
That doesn't exist
As far as I know

As far as I know, the stars in the sky are dull
As far as I know, compared to your eyes only
As far as I know

I know everything I need to sing
I know everything
I raise a gun, that won't hurt me none
I'm in love with a dream I had as a kid
I wait up the street until you show
That dream it came true, but you never do
No you never did
As far as I know

shorn

Shorn

shorn of her glory
by thirty years of tradition
left with a vail to hide
what God had made

by ideas of men who make the rules
small minds of men who build
a box around the Creator
with a myriad of misunderstanding
they pave paradise
every jot and tittle begets
a new precept by which to rule
slowly grinding...turning tradition
into rules...turning rules
into laws...turning laws
into the voice of God

a teacher once said
“But if a woman have long hair,
it is a glory to her:
for her hair is given her for a covering”

yet she is covered with tradition
and what God had made
is replaced by man's creation.
their millions of rules
become their idol

Lake Shore

early Saturday morning, the sun is shining low off the lake.
the first runners of the day, off to my right
The Killers on the radio
and sun beams off of the ripples of the calm water.

A bustle has started, city activity that I don't find
out there in hills of suburbia.
It's a feeling that I like...that I wouldn't mind living in.

"what if they had a race", says companion, "where they block off Lake Shore Drive?"
"you know, driving cars like souped-up Hondas,
like in the video race games", he adds.
"they could race all the way up Lake Shore."

I picture it in my mind, as I drive up the shore,
exit at Fullerton, making my way to Halstead.
And I look at the Saturday morning folks with envy
knowing that in my suburban apartment, I'd still be
groggy from the previous late night.

someday, I think.
someday, the city.

music search run - 4-August-2005

my semi-regular, periodic, whenever I can find it, thrift store, music search.

This week I picked up the following on vinyl:

Human League - Human (extended 12 inch single) - 1986- pristine
a. Human (extend version) 5:00
b. Human (A Cappella Version) 2:00
Human (Instrumental Version) 5:00

Jean-Luc Ponty - Mystical Adventures (worn cover, pristine vinyl) - 1982

Joni Mitchell - Ladies Of The Canyon (worn cover, good vinyl) - 1970

The Roches - self titled (good cover, very good vinyl) - 1979

Ronnie Laws - Solid Ground (damaged cover, good vinyl) - 1981

the third world

she walks in two worlds, one barely touching the other. A finesse, an intricate dance, a juggle holding all the parts in the air, working to keep them from colliding. She seems to have it just right, safe and secure in the day, excited by adventure at night.

The Third World. There is no fit for this piece. No easy way to juggle yet another, and still keep them all aloft, not touching, not crashing to the ground. An unspoken anxiety, a hidden caution holding her back, staying her hand.

What does she do? What do I do? I've barely smelled the fragrance of who she is. Not quite tasted the flavor of her life. Yet, I've seen enough to know that I don't want to walk away. I've weighed the facts and thought of the situations. I know that I want more. For what I have seen, what she has shown, is good. Those few things of her have flowed smoothly into my being and found their complimentary parts...have found an easy fit.

I see her worlds. I look with desire, and want to be a part. But there is not a place...does not seem to be a place. Only here, in the third world.

she inquires

What my eyes behold and what my mind perceives,
I like who you are and what you are showing and
where you are going.

I'll sit a while and enjoy this view
and bask in this feeling.

Show you mine, show me yours.
Just walk a little slowly, stopping to look,
see where this goes.

What Do You Hear In These Sounds?

by Dar Williams

I don't go to therapy to find out if I'm a freak
I go and I find the one and only answer every week
And it's just me and all the memories to follow
Down any course that fits within a fifty minute hour
And we fathom all the mysteries, explicit and inherent
When I hit a rut, she says to try the other parent
And she's so kind, I think she wants to tell me something,
But she knows that its much better if I get it for myself...
And she says

What do you hear in these sounds?
What do you hear in these sounds?

I say I hear a doubt, with the voice of true believing
And the promises to stay, and the footsteps that are leaving
And she says "Oh," I say, "What?" she says, "Exactly,"
I say, "What, you think I'm angry
Does that mean you think I'm angry?"
She says "Look, you come here every week
With jigsaw pieces of your past
Its all on little soundbytes and voices out of photographs
And that's all yours, that's the guide, that's the map
So tell me, where does the arrow point to?
Who invented roses?"
and...

What do you hear in these sounds?
What do you hear in these sounds?

And when I talk about therapy, I know what people think
That it only makes you selfish and in love with your shrink
But oh how I loved everybody else
When I finally got to talk so much about myself...

And I wake up and I ask myself what state I'm in
And I say well I'm lucky, 'cause I am like East Berlin
I had this wall and what I knew of the free world
Was that I could see their fireworks
And I could hear their radio
And I thought that if we met, I would only start confessing
And they'd know that I was scared
They'd would know that I was guessing
But the wall came down and there they stood before me
With their stumbling and their mumbling
And their calling out just like me, and...

The stories that nobody hears, and...

I collect these sounds in my ears, and...

That's what I hear in these sounds, and...

That's what I hear in these,
That's what I hear in these sounds.

jet plane view [rewrite]

Flying into Chicago at night,
the lights of the city spread out below.
Bright street lights trailing off into the distance,

streets, lit up for the night.

Like holiday lights strung towards each horizon,
their parallel lines getting small in the distance.
The grid, like some kind of game board,
glowing bright amber and white
against the dark velvet surface.
A perfect semetry, broken only by
the black patches of forest preserve,
the meandering river,
the wide curves of the Skyway
and the expanse of black that is the lake.
Street upon street of homes,
as far as the eye can see,
lit for the evening.

Familiar thoughts emerge,
thoughts of evening travel,
hitchhiking from place to place.
Looking out of passenger side windows,
looking into the lighted living rooms
of homes that I passed in the night.
Seeing people talking, conversing,
reading newspapers, watching the tube, living life.

What are those lives? What is in their orbit?
What is their workaday world?
What answers to my questions do they have?

And what of the living room windows?
who are the friends of these people?
more home fires and more small worlds.
each person's sphere intersecting with still others.
All of the thousands of places in this city.

Looking down from the sky from my jet plane view.
The thousands of stories in these lives.

I fly on my route, I see hundreds of cities,
thousands of lighted houses,
thousands of car headlights heading for those homes.

This human machine, repeats all across this country,
and over into the next, to engulf the world with people.

"...like a long kiss"

"In the movies, writers are always balling up pieces of paper
and staring moodily into the corner as though they were struggling
to read a teleprompter. Sheesh. Writing is a completely internal activity.
Watching someone write is pointless. Reading is where all the action is.
You are moving your mind across someone else's, like a snail, like a long kiss."

--Audrey Niffenegger, Author
during an interview on her book "The Time Traveler's Wife"
http://www.powells.com/fromtheauthor/niffenegger.html

God of War

For twenty years, I was a born-again Christian. for 17 years before that I was a Roman Catholic who believed what I was taught as a child. I Changed My Mind. And now I'm frustrated...looking at the present day religious wars from the view of a formerly religious guy.

Humans prove time and again that they are gullible, stupid, ignorant and ill informed.

When people embrace the mythology of religion and let their spiritual naïveté rule their lives and that of their neighbors, they prove how faulted their thinking is.

What is it about religion that shapes people's thoughts to embrace totally illogical ideas?

I am convinced that it is the fear of being eternally damned by a vengeful, wrathful God. Down through the ages, people have submitted to the monstrous orders of the priests and mullahs, because of total fear that they would be lost to hellfire.

The latter day "born again" "Jesus loves you" "personal saviour" flavor of Christianity is a fairly new phenomenon. Throughout the centuries, the Christian faith was replete with stern warnings and punishments for disobedience. But don't misunderstand. Godly violence isn't relegated to just one religion.

Early Jewish leaders routinely committed genocide on whole populations. The Jewish scriptures give detailed accounts of God ordering the destruction of idol worshipers.

The Babylonians killed the captive Jews who didn't bow down to acknowledge Nebucadnezzar as King and God.

The Canaanites, Aztecs, Mayans, and Incas offered what they believed was the ultimate sacrifice to their gods. That is, a human sacrifice. Those cultures had evolved to a point where the sacrifice of corn and first fruits was not enough. Their stern god needed more. Blood. And even more than just the blood of mere animals.

The priestly caste repeated this scene the world over. In history, from civilization to civilization, certain of the people claimed to be the mouthpiece of God. There is the idea that God exists, and that this God only speaks to the chosen few. The sheep-like people blindly believe that their priests are infallible...that they know God and understand His Mind. Never mind that the world's religions, time and again, fashion their God after a very human fashion. They succeed in creating a idol...a God that acts just like humans.

In most religions we see that God pretty much hates the earth and all the things in the earth. Time and again we hear of this earth as being corrupt. We hear how God's kingdom is not of this world. We see martyrs of religion, who die for the promise of the sweet by and by. They are people who die to quench the blood lust, against those they perceive to be the non-believers. People become zealots for religion. Yet in truth, they really understand nothing. They dare not ask the questions that would bring their faith into doubt. They blindly follow; without logic or proof that anything they believe is really true.

Through the ages, people have suffered at the hands of others, mainly due to differences in religion.

Today, the Muslim extremists would not hesitate to nuke America and the West from the face of the earth. They even consider other moderate Muslims, who don't share their extremist views, as being apostate, and really not true Muslims.

They insist that they are doing God's work. They think that God helps them to fight the Jews and the Crusaders. They think they are doing God a favor. They are putting the world through the type of intolerance that the Roman Christian Church did back in the Middle Ages. Yet extreme Islam was also present at that time.

It is troubling, that at the core of all this, the religious fundamentalists and extremists seem to have never really taken a very good look at where their religion came from. Many don't know the origins of their faith, or how it started. Their whole religious experience is based on things taken for granted, things taken as fact. But it is mere stories and myth that are taken as fact. It is blind faith, borne out of religions created for fun or profit....of other religions created from schizoid voices heard on the wind. Still other religions are created from stupid and unlearned members of the priestly caste. The religious intelligentsia, who believe in their own infallibility. An intelligentsia that yields ideas of a flat earth and misogynism and ignorance and backwardness. They worship a stupid, brutish God who is ineffective. These people equate backwardness with holiness...poverty with holiness, "righteous murder" with holiness.

buying / selling

5:30 p.m. evening commute, Metra

he's not motivated to buy
and not really interested in selling.
just enough for his meager needs
just enough to keep his head above water
barely above water.

she sells what she does not even have
she sell ideas and dreams
she paints those dreams with convincing words
with pictures for the mind

he does not have the means
he does not ever have the time
he looks to the horizon
looking for a treasure, wants to find a windfall
gold is in them hills, his get rich quick plan
and he is buying what she is selling
he is paying for her gimmick

smooth as oil, her words
slipping through his fingers, his riches

invisible me

sometimes, no one can see me.
at times, I run into that invisible wall.
wanting to connect with that person...all efforts get rebuffed.
my clever approach gets turned aside,
and I stand there, feeling like a fool.
I wonder why I ever opened my mouth in the first place.
and then I think, "what's the use?"
"it was a stupid idea anyway".
that person isn't so important to me, so why try?
but inside, the feeling lingers,
I just wanted to be friends.

Summer and The Smiling Girl

It is a nice morning,
sun shining, the start of a hot summer Chicago day.
Reading my book on the train, chitchatting with my train friend;
then the morning turned brighter.
There she appeared...The Smiling Girl

She has just returned from Italy six days ago.
She'd finished her last quarter studying art history
in Italy...the Sistine Chapel, Venice,
all of those historic places in the old country.

Her smile, bright as usual, and sparkly eyes,
her straight brown hair, now to the middle of her back
her body ready for summer.

We walked together catching up on the past few months,
talking about new babies, jobs and small talk.
Coordinating our train schedules.
We part ways on the street, she heading toward the Lake,
me north up Wacker.
"See you later!"

Life in Babylon

When I was his age, I didn't know what I was doing.
age 18...high school graduation...new first job for 4 months.
Then after three months I became a beauty school dropout.

age 19...a new job...moved to Baltimore...became a Christian.
I moved back to Ohio...another new job.
I quit the job...read Luke, and forsook all to follow Jesus.

age 20...I had left everything...my life was what I carried on my back.
I wandered the roads of this country; out, into the highways and hedges
compelling them to come in. I had fled Bablylon and was in The Way.

age 21...when I was his age...I had traveled to just about every State in the union.
I often phoned my mom to assure her I was OK.
I posted her letters to convince her to also leave Babylon.
I searched my soul...and changed my mind.
I left the road and returned home.

By the time I was his age, I'd lived four long years on my own.
I'd experienced the world in a way that few ever do.

age 22...I watched the fall of Saigon on TV.
I returned to the care of my parents...and my home. They helped me on my way.
I learned with patience and baby steps how to live back in The World.
I embraced the system.
I returned to Babylon.

feelings

funny how feelings emerge
curious how they flow and grow
but then, no wonder that they die
left on the vine to wither and dry

Debbie and Terry

[A requested public post, from an old friend from Wellsville, OH.]

Marc,

I am writing this to you in hopes that you share this with all you know. I also hope you don't think about me in this way but always as you knew me before.

I have been doing a lot of thinking since the Terry Shiavo incident and I can say I am on the husband's side (despite the signs of it being done with the wrong intentions). I will be in Terry's situation one of these days with liver disease that has compromised my spleen, kidneys heart and brain. Despite all the medications I have been on, this ugly dragon ( as we with Hep C refer to it) has raised it head and bite me again.

On good days I only sit and cry because of the pain for a few hours. On bad days my skin hurts so bad I can't even wear clothes. That's not a pretty sight any longer since I have swelling from mid ribs to the crease of my leg. The swelling and pain are so bad sometimes that I can't even bend over to wipe my own ass after going to the bathroom. I can't eat because of the nausea and still gain weight because my kidneys are failing and I bloat so bad my weight changes by 5-10 lbs weekly. When I do eat I have heart burn so bad I either throw up or eat Rolaids like they are candy. The Hep C also causes muscle and bone pain that travels throughout my body. Add the arthritis in neck and spine plus the shot gun's shell still imbedded in leg and ankle, sometimes I can't even sit or stand. What am I supposed to do then? This also caused hepatic brain damage. This acts like small strokes. I get lost sometimes going and coming from places I know like the back of my hand. This morning I forgot how to turn the shower on.

HOW WOULD YOU OR ANYONE LIKE TO LIVE THIS WAY? The liver damage is as the Dr. said in lay terms, only medium. Can you imagine what I'll be going through when it sets in cirrhosis? This is inevitable. That is how this disease progresses. From Hep C to cirrhosis to cancer and transplant if you are lucky.

I don't want my family or friends to see my that way. I already have a living will in place. I had to go to almost strangers because my family can't come to terms with it. Jim said he would respect my wishes but when the time comes he's not sure how he'll actually react. He's having a hard time already and won't come to terms with the fact that I'm dying slowly but surely.

I have already decided that when I start getting really bad that I will divorce him so he won't have to put himself through taking care of me. If something happens instantly and it very well could, I would want him to get another woman and have a life. Use my insurance money if I had any to enjoy himself because he has worked to help me now. I can't commit suicide because I don't think I could do it.

Again I ask WOULD YOU OR ANYONE YOU KNOW WHAT TO LIVE THIS WAY? This this really living?

Thanks for letting me vent to you and PLEASE think about those you love and that love every day.

Debbie Cataldo

((A Bright Red Scream))

Just perusing my daughter's xanga blog today. And noticed one of the blogrings she's got linked on her page. ((A Bright Red Scream)) This Blogring has links to 90 blogs, of youths who cut and self-injure.

The common thread...they are screaming for help...fighing depression, and over all bad life situations.

I see it up close. And can't find the answers or the magic words.

finding her

don't know how to help her
don't know if I can
reaching out useless hands, offering inadequate words
standing by and watching the cut
watching the pain that refuses to be named
she finds release her way
lets it flow out
dancing on danger, flirting with disaster

if I only had magic words
miraculous turns of a phrase
that would heal and mend
and make everything new again.

religion - journal musings - 8/26/2002

journal musings - 8/26/2002
5:30 p.m. - Metra train from Chicago
[thinking about the rise and fall of religion
both my own...and the world's]

Things that brought comfort
    are now empty husks.
Promises of Life,
    now hollow tales.
What gleamed brightly in younger days;
    now dull, rusted, remnants

"Ignorance is bliss" they say.
    my myopia now gone
    my eyes wide open

Yet, the universe is now larger
The boundaries more far flung.
Before, religious pride sought
    to speak for God
    to act for God
    invoke righteousness in His name.

Oh, how we knew the oracles of God,
written down by scribes and sages.
From father to son, down through the ages
So sure we know the mind of God
Because
    someone told us, convinced us,
    assured us, tricked us.
My truth, more sure than yours;
-and you say the same to me.

Looking at the world
    the ages of mankind
millions believe one way, handed down
    through mists of time
mixture of make believe and lies
    of sleight of hand and
        voices heard on the wind.
The common voices heard by the one
to start a new belief; a new way,
to upset the order of old,
the beliefs of the Fathers.

Repeated--this senario
    worldwide
        time and again

The mind of the fanatic speaks
"You are the evil infidel"
"You dishonor the Fathers"
"you dishonor God"
Intolerance destroys,
removes the sickness from our midst

The oracle speaks
"We must not deviate from the Path
God told me of the Path.
I am His messenger.
I understand the Father
*I* am the chosen one
my family are the chosen ones.
our God is greater than the other gods
our God is mightier than your make believe god.
my God is the true invisible God
your god is made of stone."

the adherent asserts
"Our God accepts our sacrifices
the best of our farms,
the best of our crops
the best of our flocks
the firstborn of our children"

I Don't Wanna Know

now playing from Marc's B Side
I Don't Wanna Know [listen]
by Annie E. Dechant


No matter how many beers I
Pour down my throat tonight
Ain’t gonna fill that black hole
Dug deep inside
Don’t wanna feel 21 again
Stupid kind of love to let someone in enough
To bleed for them

You and I are beautiful but
I Don’t Wanna Know
I Don’t Wanna Know
You and I are one thing certain but
I Don’t Wanna Know
I Don’t Want to know

No matter how many times I
Stare at your photograph
Feel your arms your face your hands
On my flesh
Don’t wanna feel 21 again
Don’t wanna smell your clothes miss you or
Need again

You and I are beautiful but
I Don’t Wanna Know
I Don’t Wanna Know
You and I are one thing certain but
I Don’t Wanna Know
I Don’t Want to know

Secret self says you have found the one
Secret self says don’t be afraid
Secret self says your searching has ended
Secret self says fly

No matter how many hits I
Take off this cigarette
Ain’t gonna make me cool enough
To throw off things I might regret
Don’t wanna feel 21 again
I’ll pray that all the aching
Won’t let me be a fool again

You and I are beautiful but
I Don’t Wanna Know
I Don’t Wanna Know
You and I are one thing certain but
I Don’t Wanna Know
I Don’t Want to know

a kick to the heart

I looked at her pictures one last time today;
and started taking the advice of my friends.

I took some new steps in my life today;
and moved toward the ones who've looked for me.

I objectively pondered those recent events today;
and realized where we are, where I am, and where I'm going.

I'm listening to a happy song
that is making me smile
I'm reading a good book
that makes me wonder why

what'd the teacher say?
you shall know the truth
and the truth'll set you free?
yeah, something like that.

slung-lo

by Erin McKeown

[listen]

© 2003 Erin McKeown
[list to Erin @ myspace.com]

i was slung-lo and
so gung-ho
for anything to get me to start
i had my rock
i had my roll
but i couldn't find my spark

a flip of the hi-fi
a glimpse of the good life
and the clouds began to fade
i'm turning this B-side
around to a de-light
blue skies are here to stay

"she was so down, look at her now
she's never been so high!
everyone knows, give it some time
the clouds'll clear the sky!"

light the radio
til it explodes
i'm dancin' til i drop
Oh, one small step
first right then left
i'm never gonna stop

"she was so down, look at her now
she's dancin' til she drops!
everyone knows, give it some time
you'll find what you have lost!"

it is my style to take awhile
to put the feeling down to page
i get around to making sound
when the fancy meets the phrase!

"she was so down, look at her now
she's never been so high!
everyone knows, give it some time
the clouds'll clear the sky!"

i'm gonna burst
right out of this world
and i won't do it alone
a kick to the heart
a lift for the charts
one listen and we'll be gone
and then who cares?
we're debonair
and we're dancin' our way back home

"she was so down, look at her now
she's never been so high!
everyone knows, give it some time
the clouds'll clear the sky!"

men like me - by Nigel Tiptoe

there are men like me who would bathe in your words
who would drink your laughter until drunk
and would drown happily in your bliss

there are men like me who would plunge into you
like a sea-bird into sparkling waves
who would plumb your depths like a wide-eyed, deep-sea fish

there are men like me who would pour out their dreams
to wash away your hurt
who would weather your storms rejoicing
who, frozen by your indifference,
would melt at your merest glance

there are men like me who would love you
who would paint their pictures on your body
who would write their stories into your life
and would inscribe their poems upon your heart

i don't know how many men there are like me
but there is at least one

copyright 2005 by Nigel Tiptoe
(reprinted here with the author's kind permission)

she goes

you were at the airport, and called me twice
called me, waiting for the kids to say goodbye;
called me again as you were boarding,
that flight to take you away from here,
to take you far away to him.

I had no words, not much to say
I thought, this is how you really feel
but inside, I don't know how you really feel.

you toy with my heart, knowing how I feel.
and because you know me this way,
I don't know why you seek me,
can't understand my purpose
and why I am here.

your attention is like the shadow
that would fall across my skin.
your gaze at me is like your breath upon my cheek.
as close as I'll ever get
your net hug, not quite enough.
your terse words clicking in front my eyes,
your spare responses, lure me to stay close.

I say I won't, but I know I will
wait for a word from you, a look, a glance.
I said I would, but I know I won't
get over this; at least not now, not very soon.

by Marc McCune

not the feelings I need

you probably will never read this.
I don't think it will occur to you to even look here.
I didn't think I'd feel the way I do.
you kept telling me what you were going to do.
yet I don't know why these feelings are so strong.
I leave the room...
you know my number, my address
you can contact me five different ways.
I don't think you will.

shall I wait in the wings? to be disappointed again?
Do I hope that you don't find what you wanted...so that I'll be there if you return?
I won't do that to myself.
I won't be left standing alone.

after the winter solstice

long brunette hair
her jacket doesn't seem warm enough
earphones in place
a winter tan
young sparkling eyes
her gaze meeting mine
friendly recognition
we speak for a minute
rekindling our acquaintance
The Smiling Girl

she talks to me
   she seeks my company
      in the hours that are left...she sees me

We dance, lightly
   what she gives, I hold tightly
      its the part of her that is mine.

phuqued

that was yesterday.
today is not quite so fucked.

fuck it.

what is it?

What is it about you that has me smitten?
When I see your name;
When I see your face;
my heart jumps and I smile so big.

My heart...I can't control my heart.

You could blow kisses my way and
I would wait for the breath of your mouth
to alight on my cheek.

You could pass me by and
I would wait for your shadow to cover me;
as if the lightness of your touch
had brushed my skin.

I cannot, for a minute, cease to think of knowing you.
When is my chance for these feelings to find a home?
When will these thoughts and emotions do more
than drop to the ground at your feet?

What is it about you that has me helpless?
that holds me in it's grip?
when my mind agrees to leave
but my heart goes its own way?

her face

she shows me a face
that not many see.
her face,
the invisible face,
the cyber face.
lines and character
soul and emotion
all come through...
all are seen.

she is easy to touch;
the soul touch,
spanning miles
and smiles.

never mind I have to share this face;
the part I see, is mine.
what we wrought is ours
the likeness of god can't take away.

who is like god?

will you ever show him these words?
will he ever read my thoughts?
does he know how I feel about you?
does it even matter...would he even care?

In this corner I wonder at what I saw.
I wonder at what I thought I understood.
I wonder what you saw...and what you knew.

I wonder what you wanted then, and what you want now.
I wonder how all the connections appear to your eyes.
Who were the players and why were we here in your life?

It reminds me of almost.

I plant cryptic words in plain view.
I hang emotional fragments like tinsel
hoping you get what I say and understand what I mean.
I think of where it could have gone, almost.

too many ifs
too many boxes
too many barriers.
not the right time
not the right love
not the right man.

Things are different...must be different.
who is like god...he's spoken for you
and you've accepted.
things cannot be as they were.

will miss you, Hermosa.

iceberg tips

Thoughts are hidden behind this mask;
behind the border of this mind.
Words emerge from this mouth;
from these fingers.
The only part you see of me
are the iceberg tips of my thoughts.
The vast world, within this mind,
not so easily apparent to you
not so easily understandable from where you stand.

And I grasp the handholds of your thoughts,
the words that emerge from your mouth...
that flow from your fingers.

Words that are reflections of the thoughts;
some of them mere masks;
some of them protection;
for you
or for me.

I misjudged
I fooled myself
I misinterpreted
I lied to myself

simply a monday morning

we made each other laugh out loud.
we flirted and sighed.
as dear friends, we talked long
into the wee hours of the morning.

my old friend stopped by briefly.
I wanted you to meet her
but she couldn't stay and chat.
you didn't get to meet her.

you saw some more of my heart
and you showed me some of yours.
I was not detered by what was said before.
I told you mine was not lightness and casual flirting.
I told you I am a peacock, preening
with all of my feathers showing.
I told you, I am taking your face in my hands
and turning it towards mine.

I left you with questions,
you left me with a promise to think about it.

a day after

met you today in a usual place
we danced and were polite
we melted some ice
and talked like friends.
admitting our emotional states
we parted nicely
we will soon meet again
me, anxiously

behind the mask

I can spin words
turn them into shapes
make you laugh, or make you cry,
but I can't make you come my way.

My world was changed in an instant...
a shocking instant;
when blinders fell from my eyes
and I saw what I didn't know was there.

I have been under an illusion
I have been under a misapprehension
I was following my need, wants, desire
I ask Why, why me, why this time

Stepping back into this corner,
the wall goes up a little higher.
my mask firmly in place,
another lesson learned.
Again, I bide this time...waiting

inside my heart

stealthily meeting in cyberspace.
and I read what you were typing...
and my heart was in my throat...
I could feel the heat in my face...
I was radiating emotion.
and I thought, oh well...I misjudged.
and I read more as you wrote
and I wondered about all the things you'd ever said to me.
and all the things I'd written and said to you.
and I thought maybe this time I'll learn my lesson.
and from now on keep a tight rein on my heart
and I was prepared for...oh, I don't know what...you to let me down as easy as you could.
I thought maybe I missed your warning...
of not to get too close.
But I tried anyway.
I have tried to fly close...like a moth...
but careful not to fall into the flame.

I've wondered what you were thinking,
when you were writing
knowing I was near.
Did you want vengeance that much?
did you hear a little voice in the back of your mind?
fighting against the other raging voice coming through your eyes?

In this impossible situation I am falling for you.
In this totally unworkable of scenarios you have successfully carved a place in my heart.
In the unlikeliest place I've found a friend who took me into confidence.
In this wild dream I'm holding on to you.

lost in chicago

I have the feeling that BETTER is just up ahead for me...
That happiness is waiting for the right moment to spring...
That I'll have clear cut goals and that I will meet them....
That troubles will roll off of me like water on a duck's back.

I'll find the magic words to say just the right things.
I'll be able to spin words into soothing remedies for me and my friends.
I'll be wise and know just what to say at just the right time
and unhappiness will be swept out the door
and bright sunshiney days will bring big smiles.

yes, that's what I see...a little far off...but there it is.

700 Mile Embrace

I am feeling a comfy coziness;
it's a smiling grin that feels good on this face.
I can talk to one who listens,
to one who likes what I say,
to one who wears a smile with equal delight.
New everyday thoughts of one who cares,
of one who lets love grow.
New everyday expectation of warm encounters;
of understanding;
of again having feelings of friendship.


I looked back and saw that I'd lost much of me.
I was reminded of who I was years ago.
I was reminded of the mind that I'd changed time and again.
And now, at this time, my mind is renewed
with thoughts and feelings that I'd abandoned to the past.
Back, before my thoughts were glazed over with untruths,
before my thoughts were viewed as carnal
and my life construed as evil.

Now one pulls back a dark veil and helps me see
the potential of my years, from this point forward.

Thoughts flow...but words are hard to find.
Feelings flow...but there is no easy turn of a phrase.
Can I just hold on to this one?
Can I just let the feelings flow...
out through a 700 mile embrace?

a view from here

there is a feeling inside, right here in my chest...lump in the throat;
looking out upon this world, and I see the things of life.
I see Humanity's waves of life...
fullness and happiness for some
deadly and dreadful for others
security and warmth for some
slavery and murder for others
assurance and confidence for some
doubt and fear for others

my struggle...in the middle of all of this
I look to be secure, happy, wise in universal knowledge

thoughts of God...making me look inward...to review where I am,
realizing regrets and missed opportunities
years of lonliness, laziness, incompetence and just getting by.

Just getting by with the small measure of knowledge
gleaned from books and ideas of other men.
sometimes glomming onto other men's philosophies
sometimes realizing things for myself

The desire is to be happy, secure, full, funny, well liked...
in full control of the Truth of the universe.
the desire of
understanding that Truth
of really knowing that Truth
at having sought and found.
Found, yet not been deceived by other men's ideas or lies...
by other men's manipulation
by other men's pride
by other men's faulty search for the truth.

6th Street near the Playground -- Wellsville, Ohio (a memory)

It was at the corner of 6th Street and Washington Street, just over the seldom used railroad tracks. The tracks that we would place pennies on, and then watch the slow moving train squash them big to the size of a quarter, and paper-thin flat.

The corner at Washington, the street just below Buckeye Avenue. The north corner of the intersection. A white cement block, one story home. A building that in my later high school years, me, Dexter Messer, Gary Rosenlieb and I can't remember who else, would enter.
Then, it was abandoned, due to be demolished along with all of Buckeye Ave. That street being replaced by the new four lane Route 7. We used to call that route Super Road. We had stopped in that house to chug a couple of fifths of lime vodka on our way to a band gig. A gig for the Martells, our R&B band. It was dark on a cool fall evening.

But in an earlier time it was bright sunshine and lush green grass. And fresh water was flowing down the hill, along the street's curbside gutter. It flowed down to where I stood at the corner of 6th and Washington. A clear memory remains in my mind of looking down at the clear clean cool water.

Across the street was a vacant lot. You couldn't call it a park. It was just grass in a recessed area, about one story below street level. A not too steep slope took you down into the basin of the lot. It was as if something had stood there, years and years before. But now it was a soft grassy place with some trees on the sides. It took up half of the block. Woods took up the other half.

We played football there. Mostly, I remember that we played "rough 'em up and tumble". Was that really a game? Did kids from other towns play that game? When there weren't enough kids to play a real game of football, rough 'em up and tumble ensued.

The ball was thrown up into the air and someone would be brave enough to catch it. The ball runner would then have to dodge everybody, running to stay upright. Everyone's goal was to tackle him.

so many thoughts

So many thoughts and the need to organize them in my mind.

The work is: grabbing them and placing them in order.
Kind of like the character in Steven King's story "Dream Catcher", the one with the head injury.
He was able to recreate a coherent mind after a severe head injury by keeping his mind compartmentalized.

A place for everything and everything in its place.
Small compartments and filing cabinets and drawers to contain all of his thoughts.

morning journal

This morning I have a jumble of thoughts. Now, searching for the right turn of phrase.
Excited argument over Bush or Kerry.
I get to frustrated at people who don't look at the facts...
too many rely on 30 second sound bite propaganda rhetoric that gets spewn out by the political parties.

I'm frustrated at people who don't take time to look at what is happening...
who are too lazy or ignorant to look at all sides of what is happening,
and to then make an intelligent decision.
The parroting of talking points.

what I look like, what I think

walking through Life alone
mostly alone
my thoughts are keeping me company
On the periphery, my life is touched
for moments
fleeting conversations
acquaintances giving small glimpses
of what lies within their minds
not often the unmasked face
or unbridled thought.
I inhabit a world of voyeurs
uninhibited blog thoughts and
exhibitionist web cams
People daring others to look
showing a tiny look behind the mask,
or the very mask?
Saying, This is what I look like
This is what I think.

youth

she walks in her own world
she is delighted
smiles at thoughts within her mind
headphones playing her music, her style
handbag pink and white
wrist with silver and jewels
red painted toes
smiles of recognition my way
tautness of youth
then back into her world, her thoughts
she walks away, the Smiling Girl

was

was 14
now 41
it radiates
it glows
was 24
now 51
she knows

1000 SOULS - by Annie E. Dechant

Funny but I've watched her for so long
We have never shared a word
Her eyes never lift from the sidewalk
Long enough for me to say
You touch me so.
I feel your soul
And from my mother's blood
And my father's influence
I turn inside myself
And there is someone
The secret of a thousand souls
Funny but she only caught my eye
We had never shared a word
Her walk was tired and lonely
Reflection of a hundred years
I feel her soul. I know her soul
And from my mother's blood
And my father's influence
I turn inside myself
And there is someone
The secret of a thousand souls
Ain't it funny how you never met
And yet you feel them
Ain't it funny how you never spoke
And yet you know them
Mold a miracle and no mistake is made
In every day the wise and joyful pulse is
passed through life
The secret of a thousand souls

links to music.

How I Spent My Christmas Holiday

I'm out of the hospital and back to work today.
My fingertips are still numb, but I'm not in excruciating pain anymore.

On Christmas eve, I began getting numb in my left arm, from my shoulder down to my fingertips.
OK...that's a sign, I thought. Is it my heart? some kind of disease? Then the next day or two, things progressed from numbness to severe pain. This past Saturday morning, about 4 a.m. I couldn't bear the pain anymore and had my son take me to the ER. After a shot of Demerol that didn't kill the pain and and X-rays, I was admitted to the hospital. A Catscan later, they were telling me that it looked like I had a problem with my C-7th vertebrae. Thanks...just what I needed.

But I couldn't think of any trauma that I'd suffered to cause a problem with my disc. Neck traction, pain medication injections, many blood tests, and then an MRI. It turns out that I have an arthritic problem with my vertebrae. And I find that this is something that runs in my family...mother...sisters.

I got to meet a nice couple while hospitalized. O.J. (actually Orville) was my roommate with acute appendicitis (at age 62).
He and his lovely wife Rose proved to be very sociable fun new friends. We'll be doing New Years Eve together (if he gets out in time )

Shelley told me...

The Century Tree
by Victoria Williams

Outside my house is a cactus plant
They call the century tree
Only once in a hundred years
It flowers gracefully
And you never know when it will bloom

Hey, do you want to come out
And play the game
It's never too late
Hey, do you want to come out
And play the game
It's never too late

Clementine Hunter was fifty-four before she picked up her paintings?
Old Uncle Taylor was eighty-one when he rode his bike
Across the plains of China Uh huh
And the sun was shining on that day
Just like today

Hey, do you want to come out
And play the game
It's never too late
Hey, do you want to come out
And play the game
It's never too late

Didn't know how to tell her for over thirty years
Kept locked up inside himself
No one saw the tears
Then she went away
And he woke up that day
So he went back to college at the age of sixty-three
Graduated with honors with an agriculture degree
And he joined up the Peace Corps at the age of sixty-nine
And he rode the grand rapids at the age of eighty-five
Now he brings roses to his sweetheart
She lives most anywhere
He sees someone suffering
He knows that despair
He offers them a rose
And some quiet prose
About dancing in a shimmering ballroom
Cause you never know when they will bloom

Hey, do you want to come out
And play the game
It's never too late
Hey, do you want to come out
And play the game
It's never too late

Today's music

Ashley MacIsaac with Mary Jane Lamond - Sleepy Maggie(album mix)
Ashley MacIsaac with Mary Jane Lamond - Sleepy Maggie (the deep sleep mix)
Ashley MacIsaac with Mary Jane Lamond - Sleepy Maggie (The Sandman mix)

pure Cape Breton celtic

Today's Music Playlist

Chuck Girard - For Brian Wilson (a Marc mix CD) - Rock 'n Roll Preacher
Chuck Girard - For Brian Wilson (a Marc mix CD) - You Ask Me Why
Eric Gales & Derek Trucks - Layla (Clapton cover)
Eric Clapton & Mark Knopfler - (Music For Montserrat 1997) - Layla
Gino Vanelli - Storm At Sunup - Where Am I Going?
Joe Walsh - (Warriors Soundtrack)- In The City
Jim Varney and Ricky Scaggs - Hot Rod Lincoln
Kennedy, Kirkpatrick, Madiera & Sprague - Coming From Somewhere Else - Hunger and Thirst
Prince - Emancipation (Disk 3) One Of Us
Susan Ashton - Angels of Mercy - Hunger And Thirst
Van Morrison - A Night In San Francisco - It's All In The Game-Make It Real One More Time
Van Morrison - A Night In San Francisco - Shakin' All Over-Gloria
John Lee Hooker with Big Head Todd and The Monsters - Boom Boom
Tito Puente Jr. & The Latin Rhythm - Oye Como Va
Santana - Oye Como Va (Salsa Remix Live)
Loreena McKennitt - Live in San Francisco - The Lady of Shalott

commute

coffee in the morning;
cream, sweetner
not too dark
not too continental

new young lady on the train;
new to my eyes
a smile from her
nice start of the day

petite blonde regular;
she now looks pregnant
no smiles from her...
no eyes

the previews look good. And, ahem, T'pol is looking extra hot this season.
"Look, they showed her boob", I said
"You aren't allowed to watch that", Liz replied.

she makes me feel good inside;
excited.
the possibilities;
new and fresh;
no regrets, no fear, no baggage.
she wants what she sees:
just me.

the concussion

I had a concussion once. I was young then, in grade school.
I did not know I had a concussion until I started having hallucinations and nightmares.

One night, I remember wandering around all over our 2-story house. The memory is vague, but I was trying to get away from a man who was dressed in a trenchcoat and a fedora. Kind of like a secret agent.

I ended up in my sisters' bedroom. The three of them shared a room together.
There I stood, hiding behind the open door, next to the wall...scared out of my wits. The "agent" was putting some kind of plastic tube between the crack of the door and the wall, where the door is hinged. I thought he was trying to pump poison gas into the room.

Terrified, I slammed the door shut. A very loud slam! My sisters all awoke to that sudden noise..."what's wrong? what's the matter?"

"There's a man out there!" I whispered, very frightened.

"Where?"

"In the hallway..."

All of a sudden, the door flung back open. In the doorway stood a figure, backlighted from the hall light. The person's hair standing on end, like some kind of Albert Einstein.

"What's going on here?"

"Eeekk!!!!" as all 3 sisters screamed at the same time.

It was my mom, who'd also been awakened by the commotion.

Then my dad, looking like Homer Simpson in his Fruit Of The Loom briefs awoke, wandering through the bedroom door.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"There a man in the house trying to kill me", I said in a hushed tone.

"Where?" We all looked down the hall, at the bathroom door. It was an old fashioned house and the door had a fogged-glass window in it. The light of the bathroom was on, shining through the window.

"He's in the bathroom!" I half whispered.

My dad, crept to the bathroom door and quietly and firmly grabbing the door handle, flung the door open. No one was there.

Things finally settled down, and my parents realized that I must have been having a large nightmare.

Another night soon after...I was upstairs in bed...sleeping because of how terrible I felt.
Everyone else was downstairs, reading, playing board games and otherwise entertaining themselves. Upstairs, I lurched wide awake. Again terror pierced my mind.
I jumped up and ran down the stairs, shouting...

"It's coming! It's Coming!. " I was scared witless. Running across the living room I jumped and landed in Dad's lap. With a deep look of concern, he asked
"What's coming, Marc?"

I looked at him, looked at everybody else in the room, confused. And blurted:
"The Fourth of July!"

Their mouths fell open as they looked at me. Then everyone started laughing really hard. I sat there confused.
Thinking, in my mind's eye I could see...in sparkly letters like they use to make the ground fireworks...

> 4 T H_O F_J U L Y <

Slowly I started to realize what I'd said. The laughter eased my mind as I joined in.

I ended up going to the hospital. Xrays revealed a concussion.

Belief-O-Matic™

I took the Belief-O-Matic™ quiz today.
I was surprised at my scores. The last time I took this test, I topped out at Reform Judaism. My ever changing mind.

1. Unitarian Universalism (100%)
2. Liberal Quakers (98%)
3. Mainline to Liberal Christian Protestants (91%)
4. Sikhism (88%)
5. Bahá'í Faith (85%)
6. Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) (84%)
7. Secular Humanism (84%)
8. Reform Judaism (74%)
9. Nontheist (71%)
10. Neo-Pagan (70%)
11. Theravada Buddhism (67%)
12. Taoism (64%)
13. Mahayana Buddhism (58%)
14. New Age (57%)
15. Jehovah's Witness (55%)
16. Islam (51%)
17. Orthodox Judaism (51%)
18. Christian Science (Church of Christ, Scientist) (49%)
19. Jainism (47%)
20. Mainline to Conservative Christian/Protestant (44%)
21. Orthodox Quaker (43%)
22. New Thought (42%)
23. Scientology (34%)
24. Hinduism (32%)
25. Eastern Orthodox (24%)
26. Roman Catholic (24%)
27. Seventh Day Adventist (20%)

I'm invisible. You can't see me. Or do you just ignore me?

I'm feeling good today. The air is crisp and just right for my broken-in denim jacket.
I'm in touch with timeless elements...namely a fresh bowl of Cheerios. I mean, Cheerios have been here forever.
Don't we all remember them from the very beginnings of our childhood? Today's bowl is with bananas.

And I'm reading a good book. William Gibson's (of Neuromancer and Johnny Mnemonic fame) new novel Pattern Recognition
Here's an interesting part I read this morning concerning how the protagonist, Cayce, is troubled by her current employer's way of manipulating her into taking on a job she really doesn't want to do.

"She [Cayce] isn't feeling easy with any of this. She doesn't know quite what to do with [Hubertus] Bigend's proposition, which has kicked her into one of those modes that her therapist, when last she had one, would lump under the rubric of 'old behaviors.' It consisted of saying no, but somehow not quite forcefully enough, and then continuing to listen. With the result that her 'no' could be gradually chipped away at, and turned into a 'yes' before she herself was consciously aware that this was happening. She had thought she had been getting such better around this, but now she feels it happening again"

"Bigend, a formidable practioner of the other side of this dance, seems genuinely incapable of imagining that others wouldn't want to do whatever it is that he wants them to. Margot had cited this as both the most problematic and, she admitted, most effective aspect of his sexuality: He approached every partner as though they already had slept together. Just as, Cayce was now finding, in business, every Bigend deal was treated as a done deal, signed and sealed. If you hadn't signed with Bigend, he made you feel as though you had, but somehow had forgotten that you had."

"There was something amorphous, foglike, about his will: It spread out around you, tenuous, almost invisible; you found yourself moving mysteriously, in directions other than your own."

copyright 2003 by William Gibson


I had to buy new jeans last night. I'm down to a 38 waist, from my maximum of 42. 30 pounds since January. It reminds me of the time I was showering in the co-ed shower at one of the dorms at the University of California at Davis. I was sitting in the shower, letting the water spraw down over me in one of the few pleasurable moments of that time of my life. Looking down I noticed my stomach...that wasn't there...gee...I've lost weight. And I was glad...because weight had been a problem in my young life.

Just Fine Music

I was dozing on the couch last night, and was suddenly wakened by the most delightful music.

It was Merle Haggard and the Strangers on Austin City Limits.
This music was just so delightful! I got a big smile on my face and couldn't stop chuckling.
I hadn't heard much of Merle...just a few songs on the radio on long trips hitchhiking in Oregon in the early 70's.
And "Okee from Muskogee".

But these songs were just great! The music was familiar...West Coast/Bakersfield with a nice touch of Texas Swing.
The the music had a familiar ring, they were different and unique with hooks that took me places. Fiddle solos, honking sax, blaring trumpet and Merle's understated lead quitar solos on his Fender tele.

Merle's voice is distinct and it seemed that his vocals were effortless. This band was perfect and lent many of solo performance.

I'll have to see if there's a rerun. This show also featured a segment with The Derailers.

...how was your weekend?

My son and I are sitting in the dark, watching "The Ring" on DVD on Saturday night.

Suddenly we see a spotlight, sweeping across the front of the house. I get up to look, and I see a police cruiser with it's spotlight playing across the front of the house. I turn on the hall light and go outside to see what is the matter. The cruiser pulls into the driveway and a cop rolls down the window,
"does Jonathan McCune live here?"
I'm thinking, "what has he gotten himself into this time?"
"Yes", I reply
"Is he a member of a rock band?"
"Yes, he is."
"Does he has a brown cadillac?" (Jonathan doesn't have a car, period)
"Is there a problem, officer?"
"Well, yes. Last night there was a call that incurred quite a large expense"

I'm puzzled.

Then Jonathan comes out on the porch.
"Is that Jonathan?"
"Yes, I'm Jonathan", he replies with puzzled look on his face.

The cops are out of the car. One of them pulls me aside to talk to me alone.
The story: Last night we got a call at the Mall about a suspicious package.
We had to call in the bomb squad from Allegheny County (the Pittsburgh, PA county) and it took them 3 hours to open this case.
We had to empty out half of the mall.
The case had a logo written on it that said "Better Off Dead" with a Pennsylvania Keystone picture.
There was a note in the case that said "If you find this then you are Gay" (not really accurate)
There was a web address. We went to the web and saw the page for your son's band.

My son's band is named "Better Off Dead"

I'm thinking about what the cops probably were thinking...a suspicious case...could be a bomb...says "Better Of Dead" on it...

Jonathan is beginning to put 2 and 2 together.
"There was a case that had our band's name on it, that we threw away, but that is the only thing I know about it."

Turns out that Jonathan's friends picked him up after work at the Mall. The driver had a bunch of junk in his car, and one thing was an old brief case that was empty, except for a microphone stand base. And a note that said, "If you find this, call this number" with a phone number; and on the reverse side it said "You are gay".
Well, they didn't just put it in the garbage, like a in a dumpster...they tried to throw it away in a garbage can near one of the mall door entrances. Since it didn't fit in the can, they just left it beside the can, and left to go home.

But then someone later took the case, ran into the arcade just inside the mall entrance, and left the case there, yelling something, ran out of the mall and jumped into a brown cadillac.

The cops ask Jonathan to go to the station to talk to them. He's questioned for a couple of hours.

The cops want someone to pay this bill. They want the band to admit that they set up some kind of publicity stunt. They try to coerce the band into signing a confession admitting to such. They read Jonathan his meranda rights and ask him to write a report of his story. He cooperates, because he asked if he doesn't and doesn't give up his rights, if he'd be arrested. They tell him, yes, they'd probably arrest him.

Fortunately they believe Jonathan's story. But they want to pin this on the kid who originally put the case next to the gabage can. Fortunately they have two girls as witnesses who testify that they just left the case next to the garbage and then left.

...feelin' groovy

It's a nice day today. warming in Chicagoland.

We started the day listening to the Beatles "A Hard Day's Night" and "Beatles IV" albums.
"It's ok until you start singing", my daughter sez

On the way to work, I choose to walk on the street, not through the underground station, as I've been wont to do in the cold.

On the street I see all the people's faces I've been missing all winter.

At the corner..."Isn't your head cold?" a nice older man (well, he's older than me) asks, as we cross the street.
"Not today", I reply with a smile.

I almost miss the elevator, but dash in at the last moment, to a nice smile of the woman facing me in the car.
(and she's very nice looking too.)
This morning I get a dark Sumatra coffee...just because I'm feeling groovy.

Before I Changed My Mind

I was brought to the Assembly by the efforts of Jim Sears.

I had become a christian in the spring of 1972. That was the spring I and my brother had attended WHLO Radio Appreciation Day at Lake Chippewa, in Ohio. It was an all day music festival, filled with music and drugs. I was on my third hit of acid, taking it all in.

The Glass Harp hit the stage. Phil Keaggy, dressed in a brown velour or suede blazer...sweeping his arm across the crowd seated in the field at the outdoor stage. "It's a wonderful day", he said, in the bright sun. "God made this day." He said...and the band began to play. Amazing music. Across the field of music fans, Jesus Freaks began to stand up and raise their hands to the sky, with eyes closed. It was surreal. I wasn't high anymore.