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.