In the Twilight Zone

I haven’t posted recently- I’ve been really busy working and knocking around the house and garden. That actually has been pretty engaging-I won’t say fun exactly, but rewarding. I think I hold the record for the only person to draw blood while composting weeds from the front lawn. Maple shoots are tougher than they look! But working all day in the sun and dirt is actually kind of therapeutic- maybe that whole “getting back to nature” thing. I found a great many big spiders out there as well, not that I have any issues with that. They eat mosquitoes. I was considering building a bat house for the backyard- (think bird house, but for bats) but my wife is deathly afraid of bats, so I nixed that little project. Not that that’s a reflection on her- I’m afraid of heights. But bats, along with spiders, eat bugs that in turn eat us. Less bloodthirsty bugs is not a bad thing. I recall a brother in law once asked me what the Buddhist position was on exterminating bugs- since we’re supposed to harm no living thing. Well, there are stories in a few of the Tibetan schools about famous Buddhist teachers whose lives were threatened “enlightening” their assassins. An insect or animal is considered to be a reincarnation due to bad karma in a previous life, so perhaps killing bugs will allow them to be reborn as a “higher” being. As a disclaimer, I am officially undecided as to the veracity of reincarnation. I have heard compelling arguments for and against, so do not discount the possibility, but am not convinced of its existence.
Speaking of which- I considered submitting myself for psychological evaluation recently- I found myself agreeing with Bill O’Reilly, as well as Republican Senator Chris Dodd over Democrat Joe Lieberman- I’ve never been a big fan of Lieberman, though, and have had a grudging respect for Dodd in that he sticks to his guns. I could disagree with him 100%, (and often do) but at least he’s committed to a position. O’Reilly was speaking with Al Mohler, who opined that anything other than that old time religion and political philosophy, is inspired and motivated by the Devil. In that case, I hate to say it, but the big D has a much better track record. Check out the bizarre transcript featuring Bizarro liberal Bill O’Reilly here- http://mediamatters.org/items/200603200013
I guess if I go to Hell, I’ll have lots of company… sure it's hot, but you meet the most interesting people! Stay well, everyone!

Returning to the River

I ran- the
river, cold blocked out thought, breath
Cold, sharp as a blade
Cut out the dark,
Cut out what I remembered- the
Jump from the bridge, just another
passage, narrow way
between walls, my
Child’s elbows scrape plaster from the walls, falling
loose,
A secret passage, I slip unseen through the old house of my childhood-
No one sees me, I am secret unto myself and
find a burnt shred of curtain to tell the story of
those gone by

Plumbing the Depths of Disorganization

That’s been pretty much the case lately- I have a stack of stories in progress currently pulling double duty as a mouse pad. I’ve got first drafts stuffed into the file cabinet, stuff to read at an open mic on top of the computer, stuff to send for publication on the hard drive, a stack full of disks of other works in progress stuffed into my briefcase, other drafts rattling around in the bottom. I think at this point, I’m officially disorganized. I lost a disk of (admittedly not that vital) writings to my computer, as it tends to eat floppies. Knowing me, I probably have most of it on the hard drive, and forgot I put it there. But that’s okay, it was a small folder and a lot of junk files, at any rate.
I’ve been spending probably more time than is good for me checking out the cable internet here at the new digs. To my technologically-stunted self, this is pretty darn cool. You can watch movies on your computer! (No, not those kind of movies). I never really understood the attraction, myself, but the adult industry (let’s be PC) from my understanding is a multibillion dollar industry. (!) To each his own, I guess. But I’ve been checking out the Atom Films website, which has lots of short films. I’ve been a big fan of short films since time immemorial. A few nights ago I happened across one of the most disturbing and also best-made films to date. It’s called Il Cyclo, (The Cycle, for those whose Romantic language vocabulary is anywhere near as rusty as mine). It centers around a man with a curious scar on his back. This man first throws a large object wrapped in black plastic down a flight of stairs, then proceeds to a medicine cabinet, gets a straight razor, fills the nearby bathtub with water and shuffles off this mortal coil. I’ll spare the subsequent gory details, but the man is “reborn” as it were, from the scar on his back. And so it begins again- a new body is thrown down the stairs by a different man, and we see the heap of bodies there at the bottom of the stairs… I found some identification in this movie, surprisingly enough- essentially creating your own hell, instead of just getting up and walking away. But realizing to a very large extent, I determine my own experience, in terms of how I perceive it, really made me think. My life is really not that stressful, compared to how it could be, and for that matter has been. If I expected some bed of roses, well, tough nuts on that one. But to a large extent, perception determines experience. My wife offered that advice, but don’t tell her she was right, I’ll never hear the end of it. If I come into life with an open mind and an interest to learn or experience something new, it’s really not so bad. Yet I was doing everything short of pulling out my hair (I shave my head, so this would prove challenging), but drinking too much and not really taking care of myself. I found that this was really a matter of perception- I can’t say this is the case for everyone, but in my own circumstances, it amazes me how much that small shift in perception can make. I’m not running around thrilled to death about how great my life is now, mainly because if I was I’d never get anything done anymore, but at least I feel all right about my life- after all, this is what I have created for myself, and I think I could do a lot worse.

Another Tale of the Maine Woods

(for Mr. Ogden)

Untimely, this, the

path by the rusted-out Buick 8, the

seat a few yards away , pocked and

faded by countless snows and sun,

The pine trees stand tall in

sandy soil that grinds against my heels-

They are not laughing

I move towards the

boards, a shed still

showing through the weeds, broken boards weathered to whiteness,

traces of red paint still clinging,

a floor

still marked by the

goldenrod pushing through its cracks

Untimely, this, the

bones half- buried in the soil, white

almost as the boards, sinking

slowly back to earth;

I do not doubt the skull-laugh,

jaw still open in

(perhaps) mirth- what

epitaph did his/her hand write in

the sandy soil?

The Daily Grind

I received an anonymous comment, (so I will make a new post) in regards to the Salesman poems- I really wish I could respond in kind, but not everyone is compelled to spill their guts regarding their thoughts and opinions for everyone to read. Understandably so, I think. In response, I wil comment, thank you so much for checking this humble blog out, I do greatly appreciate the feedback- it looks like I captured the spirit of the salesman- having spent a (brief) period in sales myself, I can attest to the spirit of the salesman- a difficult and trying job, but a rewarding one in the end. The Salesman, curiously enough, is emerging as a definite and complete character- I'm working on a short story involving him, but prose is not poetry for me- it's a little more time-consuming. But I do enjoy getting feedback, not just as ego fuel- if something I wrote totally stinks, then, that's constructive too. Besides, I'd rather have that kind of reaction than "Oh, that's nice- I didn't feel a thing." Again, thanks, I'll definitely keep writing, though I think I'm about out of poems about the Salesman- a nice guy, but I'll wait to hear what his latest adventures are... So here goes,

The Salesman, Part 3

I see below me the

rose that is the city spread out

maintained from the remote control of

searing truth, I

involuntarily breathe in the

contact high from the driving wind, and I am there-

A non-event in time marred by

lack of language perfection- returning,

Going back, down the hill-

back to run on all eight cylinders, I

leave behind a wisp of smoke- my wish

that you remember me

Man vs. Nature

And the score stands so far, Nature 1, Man 0. We're more or less moved into the new house, despite many boxes still to unpack. I have a suspicion it's stuff we boxed up last time we moved and haven't given a thought to since. I was out behind the shed trying to remove a pesky stump a few days ago. The stump is pesky because it's in an ideal spot to put a compost bin, but the stump being there kind of puts the kibosh on that idea. So I took an axe to it- the stump held up well under the attack, all the way up to the point where the axe handle broke. So now I need to replace the handle and just leave the bloody thing there- if it wants to stay that badly... I haven't put in any plants in the garden yet, but will have plenty of time to get a good compost pile going and next spring will hopefully start some vegetables. It's a little late in the season to plant anything now, but at least I'll have lots of time to plan. I'm sure this will be a less adversarial situation than trying to take out the stump. I'd try tying it to the front of my car and trying to pull it out that way, but I drive a sedan, and kind of like the bumper where it is on my car.

Salesman Part Two

She said she said don't hitch a ride

with the Monster Man, we'll

Need a new plan, but I

Needed to get to town

His skull rings like a bell from

hammer blows, the

Sun makes a pool on the bathroom floor

and his real name you don't know, still

wondering as a spider crawls across

the orange shag carpet and cigarette burns-

where is

the Salesman's Next Big Score? We

wish him luck