Unplugged

They weren’t speaking to me, I know it.

Although fear of social failure drives me to believe so, when I inquire as to whether generic comments others make, in person or on social media, are directed at me, the answer is no; either they were talking in general or about someone else.

Therefore, I have no reason to believe anyone is talking about me.

In conclusion, no one talks about me and I am already dead.

I had once worried about reaching this stage in my life.

Like, you know, totally, like, for sure, what if, OMG, I was never ever famous or, like, umm, I haven’t accomplished anything, like, real, you know what I’m saying?

Let’s see, where was I?  Firefox requested a reboot to install an update and after it rebooted, it opened to the tab with an open Facebook account, where….sigh….the lovely, beautiful, smart Guin was promoting an upcoming event.  Dang it, woman, why can I not get you out of my thoughts?

So, although I was dropping into a meditative writing state, I’m in another state of thoughts, I’ll go with the thoughts I’m in.

Yes, I like to dance and when I do, I give my all to my dance partner. Admittedly, for those who open their bodies to me, receptive in a sensual, if not sexual way, I reciprocate probably more than I should.  It’s possible for both the dance partner and me, the moves we share on the dance floor, the connections we make, are better than any sexual act could, would or should be.

I’ve purposefully never shared a connection like that with Guin, nor she with me.  I feel like we’ve kept it above the neck, so to speak, making eye contact in a familial way, almost like sister and brother or father and daughter.

That’s why it’s so odd that another part of my thoughts imagine us raising a child together when I can’t imagine having sexual relations with her.

To make up for this mismatched thought set, I try to help her with her “child,” the local dance group/community she has formed with which she has bigger plans.

I step in every now and then like a distant brother, father, uncle or grandfather, knowing that I have a way of taking over a room and attempting not to take over the dance group when I get involved, sticking my nose in, stomping around with my clumsy feet and stirring up the mud, but that’s just who I am.  I’ve stopped making apologies for being my blundering self.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, rediscovering recent thoughts.

In junior high school, my sister, two years younger, told me one day that all her friends thought I was weird and that I had weird friends (“weird” at that time being a euphemism for gay), implying that she didn’t like it because it made me unpopular and interfered with her social status.  I asked her which friends and she told me a few names.  I asked those friends if they thought I was weird and they said no, meaning someone was a liar.  I trusted my sister and understood that people will talk about you behind your back and lie to your face.

Unfortunately, because of that incident, I grew to mistrust other people.

Deep down inside, I think all people lie in one form or another — to be polite in social settings, to save face, to close a dishonest deal, etc.

Rare is the person who tells it like it is and doesn’t care about the consequences.

I know I lie.  Like, for instance, tonight I took my wife to a local dance studio for West Coast Swing lessons.  I didn’t really want to be there; after the lessons were over, open dancing began and I made a false excuse to leave, in order to avoid dancing with other women and having to look them in the eye, leading me to want to seduce them on the dance floor and attract sexual attention just when I promised myself I would stop doing that.

Of course, my wife knew my lie — that I had a sore ankle — was probably false but she accepted the lie because it’s part of being a social animal, feigning an injury to avoid confrontation with another animal.

I haven’t figured out how to dance socially and avoid the sexual animal inside me [deja vu — how many times have I thought or written that?].  Does that have anything to do with my sister calling me weird?  There doesn’t have to be cause/correlation for everything, does there?

Anyway, back to my meditation.

Reaching down within myself, sensing no “fair” cause and effect in society/culture, letting go of cultural practices of imposing fairness rules (including government, sports and religion), knowing that I am who I am, which has recently included thought trails linked to social media posts, taking me away from living at a higher level of thought — more abstract, less personal…

Forgetting who I am for a moment.

Seeing how this solar system’s arrangement of sets of states of energy are progressing, looking “forward in time,” as the saying goes…

Without the trickery of religious miracles, scifi time travel machines, magic, faster-than-light-speed space travel…

Hearing the change in the tinnitus tones in my thoughts…

Feeling myself hunched over the laptop keyboard…

Smelling the mold that is in the sunroom after heavy rains forced water through sunroom roof crevices…

What separates a set of algorithms that can coordinate to rewrite themselves creating something we can’t recognise from what we call consciousness as exemplified by living creatures such as humans, birds, and forests?

If I remove myself as an individual from my thoughts, removing everyone as individuals from my thoughts, what do I see?

The patterns that emerge include the rubbish we create — in nature, nothing is wasted, there is no trash, no treasure, no rubbish, no junk, no landfills, no toxins — everything we touch, everything we create, everything we destroy is the same.

By embracing what others have called optimistic nihilism I have been able to see the future more clearly.

Global warming, high un/deremployment, massive species extinction — these are concerns of a single species on a single planet — the universe is benign.

The transportation of people, of goods and services, for the act of global trade between members of our species, essentially the movement of sets of states of energy, what value do we gain by decreasing overall the amount of transportation?  How do we change the model of the profit motive to accomplish such a feat?  What would Maslow have to say about altruism today?

Thoughts to ponder as I close this blog entry at 2:21 a.m. on Saturday morning.

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When one’s body is

The self-centred “I” does not exist, a journey one took from age five on, a journey one understood would test one’s determination, knowing one can, like Pinocchio, wander off a path, get pulled into others’ lives, more or less daring than one’s own, but pick back up at any time one wanted, from wherever, whenever, the path more a philosophical entity than a physical one.

Yet, because labels do not exist, philosophy and physical are terms, temporary pathways through one’s neural networks, comprising memory locations which may or may not trigger other parts of the sets of states of energy we call a body, which all in all are just fractal spinoffs of galactic-sized whirlwinds in the mesh we call a universe.

One can choose a place and time to withdraw from the Zeitgeist, satisfied with one’s legacy, logically concluding that living a quiet life in one’s backyard paradise is the primary goal one sought decades ago.

The emotional attraction to others fed one’s self-centredness, building belief in another path that one had rejected as requiring more energy than one contained or drew upon.

One had achieved one’s place, if such a requirement exists (implying historical social hierarchical placement, a false sense of identity), giving those who believed in such a healthy nod that they were associated with a “winner”; thus, one could step away from them and ensure that should one run into them, one’s identity was easy for them to greet with a friendly smile, handshake, wave, and/or hug.

Therefore, one was free to pursue one’s destination toward death, expecting no rewards at the end, avoiding emotional states one had no training in how to handle, able to focus on health issues that, although not debilitating, were nonetheless interesting enough to take away from paying attention to the needs of others within one’s social circle, real or imagined.

The wisdom complicit with growing older (or does one shrink older? lol) gives one a longterm perspective whereby the pursuits in one’s youth, triggering fond memories, are best remembered rather than relived with newer, young friends, leaving one to find/fund hobbies one enjoys with one or two people within one’s age group.

If younger friends wish to contact one such as this author, they choose to do so realising that one walks a path up the mountain of Insight often involving solo treks, leaving nothing more behind than footprints in the mud, a broken flower stalk, or torn sock threads on briars, seeking neither companionship nor solitude, simply taking off with no plan other than reinforcing one’s meditative trance in the midst of life.

One lives with one’s hearing loss, with deteriorating skin damaged by solar radiation, with internal organs subjected to poor dietary decisions, with body parts damaged in motorcar smashups and sporting events.

One meditates upon the acceptable limits on one’s life based on the conditions in the previous paragraph and future decisions concerning one’s changing bodily conditions, fully aware that death is closer than one’s birth at this point, choosing to believe one will unlikely live to see 6th May 2050, the date of one’s predicted actuarial death, a date one chose to also represent the possibility that our society will announce the successful colonisation of another celestial sphere, preferably Mars but also the Moon or other large object in our solar system.

Otherwise, one closes off the tendrils one had grown out into virtual social circles when one feared that a job shift change would doom one permanently (the fear of doom was greater than imagining how the word “doom” physically manifested itself).

Finding oneself actually close to true happiness, where social connections are at a minimum, where one does not have to worry about entertaining others because one is empty and without purpose internally (unless living a relatively quiet, healthy, monastically meditative life up to the end of one’s life is a purpose)…well, it is the truest path one knows.

One no longer competes with or tries to achieve social expectations for oneself.

When one’s body is, the act of being suffices.

Just chilling but no longer on ice

While these words are placed here, the one who is writing the words in sequence is part of the words so should “I” step out from behind them and write a personal blog entry or a third-person story?

I step out today as I slowly awaken from a months-long slumber, stirred awake by my dear friend Jenn a month or so ago.

When I stood over the kitchen sink looking into the backyard a little while ago, I wondered how I could thank Jenn for getting my attention.

Should I sing her praises?  After all, she is a person worth writing lyrics and melodies instead of short stories and poems.

Or should I celebrate our friendship by writing what I used to write before I fell asleep, knowing as I do that my six months of snoozing directly correlated to the moment when I stood outside a Hammersmith community center in London, waiting on my wife to finish a Ceroc dance when a white male in his 30s/40s approached me (he had eyed me a few times during the evening and I had simply nodded at him in what I thought was the typical heterosexual male recognition manner) and offered to perform a sex act with my in the loo?

I had maybe 5 or 10 seconds to consider telling my wife that I had to go to the bathroom and she wouldn’t have questioned anything.

Running through my thoughts was the tube schedule and how much time we had to get to the nearest subway station to catch a ride back back to South Kensington.

Plus my natural reticence, the slight paranoia that the guy’s offer could be a setup.  Or maybe he had an STD that he would fail to mention and I would get infected.

The look of anticipation on his face told me he feared my saying no so I chose to believe that his offer was truly genuine.

In the last second when I was deciding whether to commit to “what goes on during London holiday, stays in London,” my wife stepped up beside me and interrupted the nervous gaze I was sharing with the guy.

Therefore, I thanked him for the offer and told him I wasn’t interested, upon which he literally ran off.

If I hadn’t told my wife, she wouldn’t have known what just transpired.

But I’ve told myself all this in a blog already.

What I failed to mention was the connection of this event to my failure to move out into a house rental on my own when I thought my wife might be dying of heart failure just before our London trip.

Failure, failure, failure.

Most importantly, I lumped all of this together with my love for Jenn.  And not just Jenn, but the part of me that is unashamedly polyamorous, and how many times I’ve failed to show, as opposed to tell, Jenn how much I love her.

By admitting I love Jenn, I admit I love many more, such as the only woman whose body has no personal space between her and me — Michele.

Michele and I are happy dogs in heat when we’re together, including when my wife is there.  Being bisexual, too, Michele loves my wife.  Michele is the only woman I’ve ever loved with whom we can be in full embrace and talk about our spouses at the same time. Zero jealousy in either one of us.

So, when I didn’t take the free opportunity to demonstrate to myself and myself alone that I was truly bisexual with a stranger in London, I thought my life was over and if my life was over, there was no more Jenn, Michele or others in my life and all I was left with was the monastic life that I could have led had I chosen to give up sexual relations with another person at any point before I got married 30 years ago.

I returned home and focused on the life of an asexual aesthete, telling everyone about the moments in my London trip where I had felt the greatest epiphanies, in Newgrange and Westminster Abbey.

I also started masturbating a lot more and quit writing.

I won’t say that I hated myself but simply that I felt it was no longer necessary to care about the future, every moment felt the same as the previous moment which would be the same as the next moment, ad infinitum.

Not a bad thing, really.

In fact, for most of us that’s the daily truth, the FEELING that everything is the same when it truly isn’t.

It was in the tiny realisation that no two moments are exactly the same that I lived the last six months.

My hearing loss increased and the sense of smell decreased, worrisome signs of either depression, dementia, or both.

I wasn’t dead yet.

Meanwhile, the winds of society shifted ever so slightly, something I smelled when we were on our Rhine River cruise in December 2015 and reinforced during our Ireland/England trip in August 2016 (nothing like going out-of-country to get a clearer view of your national subculture, especially as globally loud as an American one).

When I stood face-to-face with the guy in Hammersmith I was ever so slightly aware that our encounter could be recorded and used against me in an overbearing ultraconservative government intent on making examples of citizens it deemed unworthy or who would not buckle under blackmail to get in line.

For you see, as a writer I think I am my own god and as my own god I believe I have an influence on others that outweighs evidence to the contrary.

The little pebbles I throw into the pond of life are not causing typhoons in the South China Sea.

Or are they?

What if I believed that words I had written months or years ago were part of the zeitgeist which understood our species was only going to establish permanent offworld colonies by depriving the peasant class of essential raw materials needed to build laboratories where the next great living things were going to be created from scratch, beings specifically created to live in space and on other celestial spheres?

And that despite my reservations about his sanity, the current U.S. President and his administration understood the same thing?

Would I be willing to sacrifice my personal desires to declare a permanent presence on Mars of Earth-based lifeforms fully successful by 6th May 2050?

Can I have both?

Jenn gives me the hope that I can.

I don’t know how. I’ve already tried and failed once.

“If at first you don’t succeed…”

My smartwatch reminds me I’ve been sitting for an hour and not exercising.

My future is alive again and I feel fine. Time to stop writing/talking and dance!

You/me/us are gods

That’s right.

No longer must we depend on our forebears to provide us our origin stories.  From social media comes the creation myths and legends now.

I created my own through personal poems, short stories and novels, because I had to.

I had to know how to create myself.

The adults in my life were insufficient storytellers to keep me from disbelieving what they were saying.

I accept that the outlines of my social behaviour training were sourced from generally acceptable religious tracts and secularly-derived material sharpened through the years by our strongest hierarchical networks.

But is that so anymore?

For me, being childless and close to my retirement years — those long stretches of decades where I can consume and no longer have to produce — it doesn’t matter as much as it used to.

My origin myths are here amongst symbols we call words such as these, my personalised holy text:

A Monkey Accidentally Writes A Poem

With no particular plan

With no particular words

I take you by the hand

We look like two lovebirds.

We seem to have a view

We seem to have a thought

Our love, I know, is true

Our bodies daily rot.

We see our daily loves

Philosophers exclaim

Some people die with knives

You call me by my name.

– 2 October 1985

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Bonds That Stay

I. The Question

My dad said it,

I agree —

Why do we have to

Live so far apart?

I suppose (and I’m not the first)

Our friendship is strengthened by it.

We are being tested by

The great Administrator in the sky

(Or wherever he lives).

Somehow, I’m not really sure,

I feel committed to you,

Yet we are committed not to each other, but

Rather for each other.

You see, I don’t

Want to

Lose my relationship with you.

We are not “going together”

But if (like wow)

I went out with another girl,

I would feel…well, like,

Like I was cheating you (and me) of something.

II. I’ll Explain Myself

You are my oldest female friend,

You know that, don’t you?

Friend-to-friend,

There’s this woman,

I think she’s beautiful,

Who, if I lived within

Twenty miles,

Or even twenty-five,

Of her house,

I’d ask her to go with me.

I’m afraid to tell her

Because I don’t want to turn her

Off.

I know you’ve known her

For over nineteen years,

So please don’t tell her.

Just talk to her

And see what she thinks of me.

You can tell me later, if you wish.

I’m trustworthy.

III. Why I Won’t Tell Her

I won’t ask her, not yet anyway,

Because I can understand

That she might want to

Go out with

Other guys.

Is it possible to do both?

I, too, might have the inclination

To ask out another girl, on occasion.

IV. What She Means to Me

Have I ever told you about her?

I’ve known her as long as

I’ve known you.

Coincidence, huh? Perhaps (dirty laugh!).

This girl, she’s wonderful.

She means so much to me.

How much? How much

Water does it take to fill

The Atlantic Ocean? You see?

V. Why I Can’t Tell Her

I met this girl one time in band,

In eleventh grade.

I thought she was wonderful.

I opened up to her

More than I had ever,

Before.

We were real close, she and I.

She dropped me so fast

I didn’t even know it at first.

I was lucky.

It only took me six months

to recover (Connie has me beat).

I promised I’d never again

Make that mistake.

(Promises, promises, promises;

Me and my idle threats)

So, after two and a half years

I’ve broken that promise.

I don’t feel bad at all;

In fact, I feel great!

It wasn’t a promise,

It was a wall,

A barrier, a door with a…

A guard to my inner feelings.

That girl who dumped me,

She said I don’t show my emotions anymore.

Part of that wall’s still there.

I believe I show my emotions,

At least, somewhat, anyway.

This beautiful girl

(You know she’s you),

There have been a hundred times

I wanted to kiss her.

To some, a kiss is a greeting

And goodbye.

To me, a kiss is sacred.

To kiss a girl means she’s

Not just a warm body

Or a listening ear.

The girl I kiss has to be

Special.

Only four girls in my life

Have earned that specialness.

You’re more than special, though.

I mean, we’ve grown up together.

We were buddies, then companions,

Then friends, and now…well,

I’ve never had a relationship like this.

I wish we didn’t live apart (so far).

I don’t know why I won’t open up to you.

I have, but not completely.

What if I did? Am I afraid?

VI. Breakdown

Janeil, I want you in my arms

Right now! I miss you!

You’re so understanding

That I can’t stand not to tell you

All my feelings!

Something holds me back.

WHAT IS IT?

Help me.

VII. Please Understand

I’m going bananas,

I mean I’m a fruitcake.

I hope you don’t mind,

I really want your permission (I’m serious!),

There’s this girl

Who I’ve wanted to take out for

Over a year now.

She finally said yes.

I know this sounds silly but

Do you mind?

I’d really worry if you did.

The date’s not that important, but

You’re important enough to me

That if you say no

I won’t go out with her.

“No sooner said than done,” as they say.

Believe me, I’m serious.

You mean a lot to me.

This other girl’s not worth

Sacrificing what we have together.

I’m being more open than I planned.

You’re influencing me in spirit.

I take you with me wherever I go

(except the bathroom — I’m not that open).

I hope you understand what I’ve said.

You say you do. Please do.

We have a strong relationship —

Ours is a bond that stays.

– 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Will you?

I’ve been thinking

(I don’t know everything),

Since we love each other,

And,

As far as I know,

We’re not seeing anyone else

(I never did call that girl),

Why don’t we…

Well,

Why don’t we become…

Why don’t we become

(You won’t believe this

But two of my fellow employees,

They read this much. Anyway…)

Boyfriend and girlfriend?

I love you enough myself

To not have eyes for anyone else.

I believe you love me as much;

At least your touch tells me that

(And your eyes and voice and…).

What do you say?

– 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Work

Crash! Another dish —

Patty’ll kill me.

She’s not so bad, really,

But sometimes she can be a pain.

Life is like that,

Some of us aren’t perfect,

Most of us aren’t,

But it’s nice to think we are.

Denny says the three C’s

Will get us closer to perfect.

We’re better than Chicago,

I know that,

‘Cause we’re all good.

Washing dishes, making pizzas,

Sandwiches,

Dough,

It’s a rough life, you know.

I mean we could be digging ditches

Or sitting in an office all day.

Instead, we become friends —

We laugh, joke, help each other

To be friends, you must be there

To keep one another going.

Today, we prep,

Tomorrow, who knows,

We may be rolling dough.

Remember, it’s the customers who count,

They’re always right.

Even if they’re bitches and bastards,

They pay our bills.

So what if the tips are small tonight,

Didn’t you lose a few of those unwanted pounds?

– 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

The Decision

I have been thinking, as always,

About what I could do for you,

To show how much I care.

I almost bought a dozen roses;

We almost went to Clingman’s Dome;

All these things are big gestures,

To be sure.

I thought, “I could do that for any girl,”

But I want to do something more.

I want to show you my world —

Trees, flowers, birds, bees —

I want to be with you to watch the sun set.

You should know by now,

You’re worth to me more than anything

Money can buy; no roses or long trips,

No fancy restaurants or classy bars

Can replace what you mean to me more than this:

The precious moments we have together that

no one can take away.

I can feel you with me right now.

I see your smile, your green eyes,

Your nice body.

Your arms are around me.

Your perfume is everywhere.

We look at each other and can’t help but smile.

My arms are around your waist,

We kiss.

I whisper something to you

[Look! We have an audience].

You laugh and we kiss again.

Damn it! It’s not fair!

I want to be with you all the time.

We can’t have everything.

All I want is you.

Tell me, God, is that too much to ask for?

– 17 July 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

The View

We sat there,

Staring…

(At each other)

At the mountains,

Hills, rather,

And marveled about the world.

We rolled in the grass,

Sharing…

(Each other)

Thoughts and feelings,

Words, too,

And wondered how lucky we are.

Nighttime brought another view;

Stars,

Those objects who question love.

We don’t, though;

We know what we feel.

We have our happiness,

Our love,

Each other,

Yet we’re still independent.

If you left me,

I could not complain,

I could cry,

Wonder why,

But I know we’re stuck together.

Isn’t it awful?

– 31 July 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

Barriers

Each time we meet,

We give up something.

It’s not lost;

Instead,

We give it to the other.

Sometimes,

It’s just a little phrase,

“I love you”;

Other times,

A little gesture,

A kiss.

To me,

And yes (I know),

To you, too,

These “little” gestures are not little.

These steps we take

Mean too much to be little.

Great things come in small packages.

(You’re great! Ha! Ha!)

[Well, you are]

The more I write,

The worse it gets.

Frankly, my dear,

Damn it,

I love you!

– 31 July 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

My Proposition

It’s funny,

Now that I think about it;

I don’t know what bothers me.

I’ll tell you the whole story.

(Here comes a novel!)

I find this hard to believe,

And hard to say, too.

We’ve each mentioned it before:
I love you, you know;

If I knew I could be supportive,

I would ask you a certain question

About spending our lives together.

Instead,

I’ll wait to ask,

for several reasons —

I have no way to support you;

We’re young and can afford to wait;

I love to torture myself.

I’ve thought of the possibilities.

I could work until you finish school;

Then I could “finish” my school work, too;

Perhaps we can wait until we both finish college,

When we have steady jobs

(If we can wait that long).

Of course,

This all depends on me asking you,

And on your saying yes.

We can wait a while,

Search each other out,

And if we find there can be no other,

I’ll ask you.

I may get down on my knee,

I’ll definitely have a dozen roses,

And a ring,

Of course.

That’s my proposition:

I haven’t asked yet

So you don’t have to say yes.

– 13 August 1981

=     ==   ===  ====  ===   ==     =

I Love You So Much

I love you so much.

How much is so

Much is many

Is a lot.

If so is sew,

Then Diana’s dress

My love doth it express.

So it may be

Sewn a forest with one tree.

You I love,

Not another,

Neither yew,

Baa! Not even ewe.

I love you,

With my eye I prove,

Aye, from you I want not move.

Love has no equal,

Just like the one I love;

Our love will never have,

Like movies, an other sequel.

We keep on going,

Better with than without

The other; always slowing,

Never thought a single doubt.

So (Ho! Ho! Ho! So! Sew! Sow!)

What does all this say?

Did I stop to just say “hey”?

No, I’ve just been thinking,

Thinking about things (names, places, and…)

About cute sounds (Janeil Ann Hill)…

Just thinking to myself:

Where I’m heading,

What I’m doing,

Who I’m seeing;

When I’ll be old,

Will all this matter?

Well, I don’t know.

Right now,

I love this girl,

Can’t live without her,

Have to go to school,

Work,

And when I get a chance,

I’ll let her know just

How much is “so much.”

– 4 September 1981

Nothing New Here

For as long as the feeling lasts (forever),

People have told each other, “I love you” —

Three words,

Three word which united kingdoms,

And broke dynasties.

Why do these words do so much?

“|” and “you” are just personal pronouns;

Love is just a four-letter word.

Remember, though, words

Are symbols for people, places things

And ideas.

Love is an idea,

Not concrete but abstract,

And my idea is this:

When I say, “I love you,”

I feel warm inside

When you smile.

I want to share my warmth with you,

I want to share my life with you,

Let you know my feelings

(Want to hear about yours),

And listen to your problems.

Love bonds people together;

Their minds and bodies are paired,

Perhaps by God,

And because no two people are exactly alike

They constantly find something new,

Exciting, or wonderful,

About the other.

Because nobody’s perfect,

They may quarrel,

But love is forgiving.

Love does not always

Last forever.

People change.

Perfect love, though, adapts

To these people (and for them),

By them,

For perfect love, or true love,

Brings these people together

Like pieces of a puzzle —

The picture may change

But the basic shape remains.

Our love “evolved.”

We grew,

And as we grew,

So did our love.

Like a rose,

First came the stem;

(There were some thorns)

Then, during spring break,

The bud appeared.

We knew we were more than friends,

For our letters warmed each other,

Made us smile,

And think.

With summer came our usual invitations

But the meetings were not.

We enjoyed each other’s company,

Didn’t want to be apart,

And like that rose,

Our love grew (and still does);

Unlike that rose,

It won’t die.

I love you.

– 9 September 1981

Long-range Forecast

What shall we do,

You and I?

The weather’s getting colder,

We are farther apart,

And we can do nothing

To make each other feel warm.

(We could exchange heaters?)

Seeing each other twice a month

Makes us lie in wait,

In limbo,

Floating,

Drifting along,

Never knowing

Which way is

up.

Today was clear and sunshiny

But like being without you,

I had to work inside,

Under artificial lights,

Listening to a repeating tape;

Monotony, monotony, was all it said.

The days get shorter

But the time is longer.

There’s a long winter ahead.

– 28 September 1981

We’re Always Together

I couldn’t sleep last night because of you,

And when I woke up, my side felt warm,

As if you had been lying beside me,

Against me,

With me — wishful thinking…

(Then I saw the cat walking away from the bed).

You made the morning beautiful —

What green leaves were left on the trees

Reminded me of your eyes,

The earth was the color of your hair,

The snow, yes, the color of your skin;

Like a fairy princess I chanced

To see in the woods one day,

You shine with some inner source

Of energy —

Be it the love of your life

Or your love of life —

You have the magic to be what you want,

To be with whom you like.

I’m your King of the Forest,

Let’s rule the world.

– 22 October 1981

Our Destiny

We say that we’ll wait —

Marriage would ruin our future(s).

We love each other,

So much so that we could

Almost

Run away together

(I’ll keep trying).

Your relatives have already tied the knot;

They seem to approve of me

And, therefore (I guess), of us.

We are left with few alternatives;

I don’t believe we could be good friends again

(Though your mother would be happy, it seems),

We really shouldn’t get married yet,

So what shall we do?

(I don’t know.)

Neither do I.

I keep asking myself,

Is there anything that would stop me from

Marrying you?

No.

We’re young and have time, let’s wait.

– 27 November 1981

Who Knows Best?

Perhaps we are too serious —

I mean, we do talk about marriage.

(Is it your father?)

Sometimes, I come close to

Forcing us into making love.

(Is it us?)

I’ll tell you right now,

I’m going to “pop the question” soon,

It may be a month, or six months,

Or two days,

But it won’t be more than a year,

‘Cause I know you’re the one!

(Does anyone know what’s best for us?)

We may not get married for a while,

We may be forced to,

But we are going to,

That much I know.

– 30 December 1981

Mental Distress Due to Concern

When you hear ‘em talk of another,

Do you worry?

Do you think,

“What has she got I ain’t got?

Ain’t I enough for him?”

Does he love you?

Then why do you worry?

Honey, ain’t you never seen a man

Test your love fo’ him?

Them men, they needs to be sho’.

They’s got to know if that gut feelin’

Ain’t just their sex pistol shootin’ off…

Know what I’s gettin’ at?

When he loves you,

He tells you so.

He says you’re “beyootiful”;

He opens yo’ door;

He treats you like a lady.

Ain’t that enough?

– 27 January 1982

Smile, Sad Eyes!

I respect your silence;

Yet, as little as we see and hear each other,

Can’t you find it in yourself

To tell me why and how you feel?

We don’t know everything

About each other —

I can only find out about you

By what you do and say.

If you don’t say anything,

You’ll always be a mystery to me.

Is that what you want?

If you’re depressed and want to be cheered

And don’t tell me,

How can I make you smile?

– 27 January 1982

American Revolution

Some ask for it by name,

Others wait for it to come.

What will I do when,

Or if,

No one gives me attention?

I ask not but for some attention,

A smile,

Common experiences to relate

And trade ideas.

The teacher is a pupil,

The law requires it.

If I need attention,

I must give it.

Who wants my attention?

A bird? A cat?

The next-door neighbor?

My friends, my countrymen,

Lend me your attention

For I will return it tenfold.

What more could you ask?

Questions, I know,

But who wants answers?

Not me…

Just attention…

Good old, sweet attention.

— 13 April 1982

Down the shore with no horizon

Don Quixote searched in vain;

Desperado never learned his name;

Many a noble soul had a noble cause

And lost — who can take the blame?

Because they searched, because they sought,

They deserve a moment, a fleeting thought.

Little were they detracted in their quest —

They looked for the dream that never ends,

They left the home so full of love

To find the love that can’t be bought.

The love I found cannot be measured

In pounds or ounces, in pints or cups,

In dollars or pennies, sixpence or marks —

The love I found I found in you,

In you I found the dream, the hope, the desire,

The will that makes a king aspire

To seek his King in ever hour.

For you, my love, I will embark

To kill the rogue, to love my enemy;

Just say the word for I am yours,

We trust in Him whose thoughts are pure.

— 1982

Dream

The quiet, cool morning when no one yet awakens,

The stars still in their glory,

A jet passes through the sky leaving a faint white trail.

A girl behind the cash register,

The white light streaming through the store-front window of

A twenty-four hour store;

Truckers stop for coffee,

Shift workers buy a meal.

Starshine in my right eye,

Storeshine in my left,

Shall I turn to look at women

Or let the skies turn me bereft?

With wings I hunt to find you,

Somewhere there on Earth —

The clouds are my companions,

The wind, my guiding path,

Yet on the ground I’ll find you,

Waiting, searching for the best.

You know you’re with me always

(I cannot shake you off)

So let me fly asunder,

Find the wind that blows the strongest,

Open my wings and

Float,

Soar,

Feel the beauty before my eyes.

The morning turns to noontime,

The birds and people reappear,

I wake and ache at your absence,

My life is empty with you,

That’s why I call you “Dear.”

— December 1984

The Ignorance In Knowledge

The wonders of the universe are mine,

And yet, I wonder what I want with these —

Without my thoughts, your love is true divine,

His Love, your warmth, does not ease life nor please

The seascapes, patterns, that eradicate

Or even place our love up with the gods.

I open eyes at daily double’s fate

To see the watchdogs eat the blinded clods;

The rituals, life-supportive (so they claim),

Brings hunters and the hunted to the fight —

The educated aid the hopeless lame

And both shall watch the forceful lose their might.

We lost the sight with schoolbooks held in hand,

The sight that sees the hungry feed the land.

— February 1985

Good Mack Café

The banana peel.

A metaphor for falling,

Not watching our step.

I hold the banana peel in my hand,

The freshly eaten, soft interior

Losing its identity in my stomach.

A limp thing, yellow and green and brown

Nutritious protection for future worlds,

A jungle or tropical garden,

The veins no longer flow with fluidy substances,

The seeds are lost in rotting dumpsters

Filling sewers, freshly flowing,

Floating jetsam, flotsam pressing

Forward toward my nose,

The smell offending softly spoken,

Perfumed bodies like myself.

My fingers loosen, the peel drops (Plop!).

Rising from my chair, I step to

Reach down to the floor, taking hold of

My future, discarding it as I leave the room.

— March 1985

Words, Only Words

Beneath the surface of your face,

Beyond the limits your brain implies,

The love I want remains in place

Becomes the spark that lights your eyes;

Yet love, one word, does not explain

The love we share and cannot hide.

Vocabulary words bring pain

To those of us who’ve searched, we’ve tried

In vain, regardless of the thought

The other hopeless folks may say,

“All lives are meant for sale, then bought,”

Their voices listless, dull, blasé —

The timeless “love” they call a word,

The love we feel cannot be heard.

— March 1985

I float on an imaginary sea

I float on an imaginary sea —

Waves of motionless, substanceless, nonbeing —

rocking me to the tune of vertigo-go.

AND…&…ET…Y

A straight line does not exist.

Approximation

Approach

Appreciate

Appearance

Appropriate

Apples

I’m always going home;

Seeking home.

Home?

It is a matter of expressing myself, isn’t it?

– 22 September 1985

I am not the wind

I am not the wind

yet I am of the wind

I am a wing of the wind

I am winding down slowly

No longer wing

Nor wind

Just…

Formations of the form of motion

Seas frothing at the mouth

Reality — only seven letters

– 3 October 1985

My religion is based on a form

My religion is based on a form,

neither simple nor complex,

Known nor unknown,

A form that can never be perfected.

The form is based on the shape of a wave,

A wave that completes a revolution,

That revolves around an unfixed position.

The wave does not exist

But its form is imitated by physical phenomena.

My religion is based on a few short words —

Everything goes in a circle.

– 3 October 1985

23 October 1985

I search my brain and find naught

But six terrible nightmares leftover

From a feast of sleep.

I open my eyes and find naught

But what I want to see.

The dreams of a thousand years

Locked in a brain with no hope of escape;

Where do I go from here?

Modern-day Martyr

Anticipating your reluctant smile

And knowing that we sometimes fail to see

Our love (that drive to satisfy), and while

You wiped away the tears, recalling Lee,

I hugged you tighter. Had they told the truth?

I mean, your brother fell. You know the bridge

Was slippery. You know they cannot prove

He killed himself. Just take your privilege

To put these thoughts aside and sleep tonight.

In time, you’ll have perspective and the strength

To put your brother’s death back in the light,

To recall the times he went to any length

To pull you out of your self-pity. Now

Is not the time for asking “Why?” or “How?”

— 29 October 1985

The Artist In Me

The artist in me cannot resist this momentary desire

To put on paper words that burn, words that die, like fire.

The artist in me cannot deny this denial of the work ethic.

What is the work ethic?

What is reality?

I hear people speak of inner worlds and outer worlds,

How one is real, the other false.

I hear myself laugh and laughing.

“We see through the filter of our experience,” one says.

“We do not see the lens through which we look,” says the other.

The one I heard that said the most:

“Reality is only seven letters.”

— 26 September 1985

Sounds In The Night

Onaki som

Vrimurnika

Ola, mifrind, ola

Cizurpi, Ta

Omal jamal

Amarki ti nipur

Solonga long

Ananika

Aloki fanipa

Apar tipar

Avert aumur

Nipusi ti amour

– 7 October 1985

I’ve had the gift for flowery words

I’ve had the gift for flowery words

So I need not escape on grandiose schemes

Just put words upon this page

Without lofty themes

Tell you how I feel and leave

Let you see my love

Let you feel my need.

– 7 October 1985

Resisting Temptation

The world, in circle, flow —

The mind, enlightened, glows —

The civilized enclose —

The seed, on wind, grows —

The Classic and the Beautiful.

Forever setting forth

The future in the past

The past in the future

Setting a new course;

Careless and fancy-free.

Never you or us, just me.

– 7 October 1985

Crystal Mountain

“All I need is the air that I breathe

And to love you” —

Words sung by the master love-song serenader

(Of this age),

Julio Iglesias;

Words have taken on an acrid taste,

Become an irritant that burns the eyes,

Resounded in the ear explosively,

Shocked the touch of a gentle hand,

But words still smell good.

These symbols that I give you

Never can replace the hugs or the kisses;

These splotches of ink that you see

Take the place of my electrochemical longing,

My desire,

To hold you in my arms

And block their reality away from our world.

Each of us has an obsession,

A satisfaction of a basic/primal desire —

Cigarettes, alcohol, automobiles, guitars —

And if we’re lucky,

Our obsessions are part of our daily lives

(Hopefully, socially accepted).

So you see, not only do I love you

And wish I didn’t have to write these words to be with you,

I’m obsessed with you, baby,

And I want to be lucky.

– 10 October 1985

Have you overcome the concepts of conscious and subconcious conscientiously?

A wren calls out in the backyard at 0630 this morning, making danger calls likes the ones it calls out when I open the garage door and walk out on the driveway.

Without my hearing aids, I would no longer hear the frequencies of its warbling.

I have learned from today’s experience of bird voices but I want to learn more.

And after learning, then what?

PLAN/DO/CHECK/ACT?

Do-be, do-be, do?

Those who can’t teach, act?

To know is to do/act?

To be is to do?

As a child, I learned to stop asking my parents “why?” all the time, because why I can’t remember.  I knew not to ask other adults because I often knew the answer before I asked and discovered that many adults feigned knowledge but basically lied or diverted attention from the facts to hide their ignorance rather than say “I don’t know” or “Good question!  Why don’t you look it up in a dictionary/encyclopedia and find out for yourself?”, although some adults, including my parents, pointed me to reference material, including nature itself, for answers.

A number/percentage of children don’t/didn’t have the luxury of helpful parents/adults or reference material and I will point them in the direction of my sister and her friends more suited to parenting/nurturing roles than I who provide such things as backpacks filled with food and other useful means to guide children without a [locally] socially-defined safety net for nurturing future adults/leaders/followers.

Today, my thoughts wander as I wake up in preparation for a workday of helping save lives.

I have on the periphery of my cloudy neurochemical neuronic firings the hint I will learn some thing/idea of relative importance, to/for whom/what, I cannot say.

I ask myself why and do not yet receive a reply.

I try to avoid platitudes and concepts upon which I could rely for quick answers to general questions at this time.

I could, for instance, turn to the comforting plateau of nothingness, a blank plain, devoid of sun, wind, and/or objects of any kind, neither dark nor light, in which I erase the advert-like memes that pop up from daily exposure to members of my set of states of energy (i.e., species) and relax uninterrupted for immeasurable units of time.

But that, too, is an artificial construct which does not exist.

Instead, I am surrounded by trees, bacteria, insects, fungus, algae, plastic, paper, cloth, furniture, electrical wiring and words printed on material that identify objects, advertising their purchasable purposes.

It is in reality that I live.  I desire to live in this moment, not ignore it as I ponder other moments that we identify as past and future for placement of the set of states of energy I hesitantly but happily will identify as my older self in another setting with other objects, perhaps on another planet.

From that last statement, I mentally prepare to save/post this blog entry, close down the laptop computer and finish getting ready to drive to my new workplace, interact with fellow employees and help to save lives.

My wife’s family memories

Where are your family memories stored?

For my wife, they’re kept in many places, not just in the synaptical, neuronic electrochemical impulses of a single central nervous system.

Some are stored here, at the cemetery in Stony Point, Tennessee, next to New Providence Presbyterian Church:

New Providence Presbyterian Church panorama

IMG_0139

New-Providence-Presbyterian-Church-and-Forgey-gravesites-2007-12-27

 

 

…where naturally-aged gravestones tell the story of time in more ways than one:

 

Carmack-John-gravesite-2007-12-27 - wide-shot

Forgey-James-gravesite-2007-12-27

 

Forgey-James-R-gravesite-full-stone-2007-12-27

Forgey-Margaret-gravesite-2007-12-27

Forgey-Rachel-daughter-of-James-and-Margaret-gravesite-2007-12-27

Forgey-Rachel-gravesite-2007-12-27

Harlan-Elizabeth-gravesite-2007-12-27

 

 

…and verify information stored in the Forgey Family Bible, of which my wife is the current keeper:

 

Forgey-Bible-family-record-births

Forgey-Bible-family-record-births-deaths

Forgey-Bible-family-record-deaths

Forgey-Bible-family-record-marriages

Forgey-Bible-births

Forgey-Bible-deaths

Forgey-Bible-marriages

Gabriel-Forgey-Mary-Harlan-marriage-March-14-1870

Those memories make my wife happy and when she’s happy, I’m happy!

A dose of three quarks daily

We praise competition, but practice merger and monopoly…. We praise business organization but condemn and prevent labor organization…. We give heavier and more certain sentences to bank robbers than to bank wreckers. We boast of business ethics but we give power and prestige to business [disruptors]…. Everybody is equal before the law, except … women, immigrants, poor people.… We ridicule politicians in general but honor all officeholders in particular and most of us would like to be elected to something ourselves. We think of voting as the basis of democracy, but … seldom find more than fifty per cent of eligible voters actually registering their ‘will.’… Democracy is one of our most cherished ideals, but we speak of upper and lower classes, ‘look down on’ many useful occupations, trace our genealogies…. We believe in the brotherhood of man, but we are full of racial, religious, economic, and numerous other prejudices and invidious distinctions. We value equality, but tolerate greater inequality of wealth and income than has ever existed in any other society…. We drape nude statues and suppress noble books…. We try to foster participative recreation, but most of it is passive, much of it vicious, and almost all of it flagrantly commercialized…. This is the age of science, but there is more belief in miracles, spirits, occultism, and providences than one would think possible…. Our scientific system produces a specialism that gives great prestige and great technical skill, but not always great wisdom…. The very triumphs of science produce an irrational, magic-minded faith in science….

Realize, now, that the article was written in 1935. The author was Read Bain, professor of sociology at Miami University in Ohio. As a founding editor of the American Sociological Review, he would become embroiled in early disputes between the “scientists” and “humanists” in his own discipline. He was thus involved in theorizing—and, in that spontaneous way of so many early- to mid-20th-century American academics—practicing in the mode of a “public intellectual,” that figure who today, apparently, is nowhere to be found.[i] In terms of Bain’s analysis as synopsized above, and even more to the point, in terms of the social critique it so earnestly propounds, what struck me when first reading it was how contemporary it sounded and how apt its reproaches were.

– See more at: http://www.3quarksdaily.com/#sthash.r4OiSwKH.dpuf