We’ve been staying at the home my eldest daughter, Katrin , shares with her husband ,Jake, and their two sons, Turner and Brady, for the past week . In 3 days , we will begin the trek back to the place Michelle and I have called home for the better part of our lives; Rockland county, New York - a Hudson Valley suburb about 40 minutes ( depending on traffic ) from downtown manhattan

Departing from Glacier International Airport in Kalispell, Mt., on Monday afternoon , we’ll arrive in Denver, Colorado 3 hours later, where we will spend one more night wth daughter Laila , who along with Katrin , coordinated ( and paid for ) this whirlwind trip out west.

If you diagramed my life, you could mark the most significant eras , by when my children came into my life

Laila is recently back in the U.S. and settled in Denver, after having spent several years doing post-grad work in Germany. Prior to residing in Europe , she’d been literally traveling the world- Asia ; Vietnam and Cambodia , South America ; Ecuador , Peru , Argentina , all the way down to Australia & New Zealand, where she lived for a couple of years. All told, she’d been on the road for 7 years, and was growing tired of bouncing around. She wanted to be near mountains, but have the cultural stimulus of the city, with a circle of like-minded friends who shared her passion for mountain climbing, Biking and hiking , and Denver, Colorado , seemed to fit the bill .

She was trying to have it all , or at least most of it. After a stressful year of hoping and praying for a good job that was relevant to what she got her degree in, as well as finding a living situation that she could sustain by herself, both things fell into place at the same time.

Her joy in her current life is palpable, and it makes me feel tremendously relieved , as well as immensely proud of my younger daughter -

She hung in there , set her goals, and stayed on course , which is something Ive come to expect from Laila .

She was always a spunky youngster, and is still the reigning boss of applesauce.

Daughter Katrin Joya, named for my mother and the first Frye grandchild, has been a resident of Montana for decades. Born north of Bigfork , her home for over 10 years, in the town of Whitefish. A year and a half later , my marriage ended and I returned to New York .

she shuttled between her mother and I till she hit High School age, when she decided that she wanted to go to H.S. in N.Y.

There was some upheaval at home, so she decided to give New York a try. I was over the moon, but also thrust into a role I hadnt played full time ( except for summers) since I lived in Montana a decade before- full-time father.

I need to state a fact here - fatherhood , like a birthmark or a tattoo , is with you for life. Whenever she was out in Montana and I was plodding along in New York, I carried an emptiness with me that I did everything I could to fill, or drown out. Many’s the day that I felt a deep shame that I wasnt there to greet her when she came home from her first day at school; her mother’s boyfriend at the time was.

Her mother, to her eternal credit and my gratitude ,kept me informed of her development, with photos and phone calls ,and sweet cards that Katie colored and adorned with stickers. It really helped ease my melancholy a bit.

I traveled out to see her every year, and she did a couple of years of grade school on the east coast, but this was different- she lived with me now. Fortunately, I had the support of my family all around me, and her mother’s family, as well, down in Kearny, New Jersey .

I used to say to Katie when she was little, “: that’s the problem, honey- everybody wants you ! You’re just too lovable ! “

My wife at the time, Robin, turned out to be an excellent step-mom ( thank god ), and continues to have a loving and supportive relationship with Katie and her boys decades later.

My 3rd child, a wholly unplanned and wonderful surprise,my son, Max, was born to my partner, Michelle, in 2000.

He seems to be the child born with the least amount of ballyhoo going on between the parents, and only lived in one home ( our house in Rockland county ), till he left for Hampshire college in West Hadley , Massachusetts , the state where he still works and resides in.

My daughter Katie is old enough to be his mother. Laila is 5 years his senior, but he and Laila got to live together long enough to bond as brother and sister. They even went to the same school for a spell. I am grateful for the unity of my kids, despite dad’s ungainly efforts at building a family. Family, the one thing I always struggled to keep whole, to make sacrosanct ; for everyone to cherish as much as I did.

My kids witnessed some chaos, for sure, but it was more the chaos of these adults that they were dealing with than something that they had a damn thing to do with. I believe that love DID prevail , regardless of custody issues , who’s paying what to who. The women whom Ive raised children with, I believe, overtime, realized that I valued their lives as much as my own. I coughed up the money. I changed diapers. Made formula at 3:00 a.m. Held the crying collicky child into the wee hours. I went to the school pageants. I watched LaCrosse matches. I made breakfast, lunch, and dinners. Sat with them when they felt ill or had a bad dream. Picked them up and dropped them off. Brought them to the airport and said goodbye. I believe they all know that I did it out of a genuine need to prove my love and commitment. I have no argument with their dissatisfaction with me as a marital partner. They’re entitled to be happy. I understand fully why I was a disappointing husband, but I think that they saw how much I valued be good for our kids, and part of being good to your kids, is being good to their mothers, regardless of who did what to whom.

All of that ; literally all of it , is over - water under the bridge, old wounds, that may have left some scars, were still able to heal properly, because the great ointment of time, has done its work well.

Our children are adults now, and really healthy, productive, kind and understanding people, who live better than I did at their age. They are all of our collective pride and joy, and so they will remain in our hearts as such.

Here’s the hard part for me- I am no longer bound to look after them like I had for years and years.

Now, all the pursuits of my youth have lost a good deal of their luster.

I mean, I still enjoy making music and all, but it no longer has its magnetic pull on me, but I have no less of a need for some kind of North Star to get my bearings from. I am in Montana, after a wonderful time here and in Denver, and I know it’s time to turn towards home.

I have, through all my years of living and working in New York, gigging throughout the Tri-state area, making and losing connections, just been living the life that was in front me, with no endgame. Nothing even close to a plan. Yet there was always simmering in the back of my psyche, or keeping me awake at night , quiet alarm, of sorts- where is this leading ? I never even seriously asked myself, “ what the fuck do you really want, Dave ? “

Ive gone to career counselors.Healers, relatives, friends ; nothing.

All I feel is this frequent and disorienting …tugging …away from wherever I was, this inexorable pull towards an imagined home, a concept that has become ill defined in my head, despite all the years of looking.

I just wanted a place for my kids, for the people I loved, where I could lay my head down at night, feeling like I was where I belonged.

A song that I started writing many years ago that I ironically ( or appropriately) never finished, had a chorus that went:

“ All rivers lead to the ocean / like all roads once led to Rome / any place that we find ourselves together / that’s the place that I call home “

That’s pretty much the sum total of anything remotely like a plan that I’ve ever held in my head ;

Home is where my loved ones are,

and now they’re everywhere -

As well to count the Angels / dancing on a pin… “

( “Let it grow “ , from “ weather report suite “ - Barlow / Anderson / Weir )

Outside and to the right of the front door, there is a security light.

The movement sensor over the light, creates an 8” wide platform, which was just barely wide enough for a Robin to build her somewhat sprawling nest and lay her eggs.

The nest is a sight ; a rag-tag , yet tight little structure that has all these odd , seemingly superfluous, overly long bits of grass sticking out of the the main base of the nest. I say superfluous , but what do I know about nest building ? The long, scruffy collar of wild grasses may be intrinsic to balancing the nest on the tiny platform, perhaps, who knows ? With my usual tendency towards anthropomorphic projection ( or what I call omni-empathy ), the wild outer ruff , is the Robin’s expression of self , an artistic endeavor meant to alert the world to just who we’re dealing with here.

There’s one really long piece of wild grasses that must be nearly 2 feet long that juts out like a piece of straw sticking out of the corner of a country boy’s mouth, just jauntily dangling and waving in the breeze. I see no practical use for it, yet again ; Im no architectural expert on the construction of Robins nests , it may have some unseen purpose. Then again, it may have been Ms. Robin’s go-to-hell attitude towards what she may or may not do with her nest ; which no one was helping her build, and that she knew she was going to be bound to when her impending offspring made their appearance, until said offspring were able to fly away from on their own volition , never looking back.

In effect ; I’ll make my nest any damn way that I please. Now, if you’ll excuse me…

It’s been a delight ; watching mother Robin assembling her nest, while I rebuilt the garden enclosure, which is barely 10 feet away.

I watched her skittishly flit back and forth from the light sensor, to the railing of the stairs that lead up to the driveway.

I talked to her all the time, giving words of welcome and encouragement. Making fun of what looked to me to be poor structural choices, while she’d just cock her head and give me the side-eye , as if to say, “ Bitch, please - my supplies come free of charge, from the UNIVERSE, dog ….yours comes from, what ; Home Depot ? … puh-LEEZE…”

It was wild, just working beside her- I’d be hauling lumber, tools, organic raised bed soil , cutting my fingers and knees ; cussing the drill like it was ITS fault that I just stripped a screw, while Ms Robin just flew back and forth, at times with just one single piece of grass in her beak ; to weave in with all the twigs and grasses and bits of paper that she’d been methodically collecting for days , never once betraying any sense of urgency , just focused and constant , an admirable example of thoughtful productivity.

Today, my garden is in , and last night we ate a robust salad , made with several types of lettuce and arugala , along with some baby tomatoes, hard boiled eggs , and raisins. It was SO good , along with a store bought Hummus and chips, it was exactly the right thing to eat on a steamy summers night .

We’ve taken to leaving the house as discreetly as possible; gently closing the screen door, so the three little baby robins wont be startled by the sudden noise coming from barely 12” away. Fact is, all the noise does is trigger their “ feed me ! “ response, causing them to suddenly extend their tiny necks straight up, with eyes closed and little beaks wide open to receive the worm that mother Robin has returned with to stuff in their gullets.

I am enjoying the natural unfolding of these events ; the simple building of a suburban garden , alongside a wild bird nesting and raising its hatchlings.

This, is a small life ,somehow managing to fit itself onto this infinitely tiny increment of time and space.

It will, in time, yield what it will yield , then pass back into the unknowable whatever it arose from, and anyone or thing that bore witness to it while it was, will eventually join it ,in its disappearance from memory.

As I enter my 68th year on this “ silver-blue Jewel “ as singer James Taylor described the Earth in his song, “ Sugar Trade “, I have developed a tender , more understanding spot in my heart for this life . All of it .

An appreciation that resides alongside all the pain and pleasure, rage and regret, sadness , greif, joy and exaltation.

Every thread, every strand of experience, gathered from the wild, to be woven together into the vessel of memory.

This is my heart.

That this would be the time I was gifted with, to be one of billions of souls that got to be born of woman, on this miraculous jewel of a planet, me, by choice or happenstance , my gratitude should be unending, and the song of my joy reverberating through the halls of eternity.

This day, and everyday leading up to it, was pure gift.

I can no longer see the value of regret, save for maybe being evidence that I have learned a hard lesson ; been wounded, and am willing to acknowledge the price of my ignorance.

The good and the bad ; I see it all now, as the tools I was given to build this life with , and to grow a knowing , grateful heart.

Everything I needed, was already here.

May I always continue to build and nourish this tiny, miraculous life Ive been given, with joy, compassion and mercy, so that when my time comes to fly away, I wont look back

Mary and I had been recently chased off of the freeway proper by the highway patrol, and we honored the cop’s request out of a desire to not get arrested for vagrancy, or whatever charge they may wish to bring, and not because it would increase our chances of getting a ride. Traffic had gotten extremely sparse in the last couple of hours, and standing at the top of an on ramp , far from any services or town , made the possibilities of a ride anytime soon, become increasingly remote.

The setting sun , distorted through waves of heat rising this off this flat, obscure northern Californian valley , seemed to flatten out as it sank lower in the sky. Being stranded out on this lonely stretch of road at night, was starting to look like a grim possibility, when our desperate traveller’s prayers were answered by the sight of an old Ford pickup truck , slowing down and turning onto the shoulder of the road.

It was the quintessential hip-looking guy, mid-thirties, I’d say, with a mustache , wearing wire rim John-Lennon glasses and a collarless Henley shirt. Mary and I were able to shove into the front bench seat of the truck, and we drove off, relieved to have ended our 8 hour vigil on this lonely stretch of asphalt.

The nature of our conversation is lost to the foggy ruins of memory, but at one point or another , he ( his name being another casualty of forgetfulness ) offered us the floor of his trailer home to crash on for the night.

After a while, we turned off of the main highway onto some ancillary road. The sun had set, and we were driving into almost total darkness, save for occasional street lights and the headlights, which revealed nothing beyond the road just ahead of us.

I had no idea whatsoever of where we were.

We were apparently deep in the woods, and his home, of which I could only see what the headlights of his truck could reveal, appeared to be your standard issue trailer home. It was a double wide, though, and wonderfully spacious, yet cozy inside.

We smoked his homegrown marijuana , ate dinner , drank wine, then listened to a double record set he had of Jazz flautist , Paul Horn, and the live recording that Horn had made in the great Pyramid at Giza, which begins with the sound of the musician rapping on the interior chamber wall, then tuning his flute up to the pitch of the Pyramid’s interior, then proceeding to play unaccompanied solo flute music for over an hour. It was hauntingly beautiful, and the seemingly absolute darkness that surrounded this trailer home in the woods, made everything thing feel womb-like in its comfort, and we fell asleep rather quickly.

Morning came with the usual need to rouse myself, go to the bathroom, and investigate the possibility of a cup of coffee.

My initial disorientation from waking up on the floor of a strange place, quickly passed, as I stepped over the still-sleeping form of Mary, as I re-assembled in my still-fuzzy brain, the events of the previous day, leading up to now. Walking past the front door to the house, it dawned on me that I had no idea where I was, and maybe it would be a good idea to look outside and take a gander at our current location.

The light leaking around the edges of the drawn blinds was a weak and diffuse gray , giving me the impression that it was still just barely dawn, so I tiptoed as quietly as I could to the door.

I turned the doorknob fully, and gently pulled the door open; again, trying to be as quiet as possible.

What I saw outside , made me audibly gasp.

We were deep in what appeared to be an old growth redwood forest; surrounded by enormous, sky-scraping , rugged-barked trees , with a thick overhead canopy, with the lowest branches forty to fifty feet from the ground. What light that could penetrate the canopy, streamed down dramatically between the trees, creating the overall effect of being in a huge ,medieval cathedral. I saw a large , 6-pointed buck, strolling between trees and into a long shaft of light about 100 or so feet away from me, with birds flitting about through the light and squirrels chasing each other over the roots of the trees and up into the canopy. It looked absolutely unreal ; like a Disney animation come to life . It was an overwhelming sight to me, despite having spent time in the Rockies in northwestern Montana. Suddenly being in the heart of a real, live redwood forest, was not something I had ever experienced or was prepared for.

It was absolutely magical. I ran over to Mary’s inert form in her sleeping bag, and shook her awake . “ Mary ! “ I said in a barely contained loud whisper , “ you wouldn’t believe where we are ! “

Our generous driver and benefactor , if I remember correctly, had been living here since the late 60’s, having fled the Bay Area when too many people had flooded in when they heard about the hippie-heaven it had become. Which, of course, led directly to its downfall.

Our friend purchased the property when it could be had for a song, and was living out the whole Woodstockian “ goin-up-the-country “ fantasy that was so prevalent in the waning prior decade.

This was the sort of experience that I couldn’t have imagined happening to me, until it happened.

There were other similar events that occurred on that journey out west, but this one resides in perpetuity in my memory as a particularly pure and joyous adventure- a chance encounter on the road , that showed me how startlingly beautiful the world can be, and I stumbled onto it for free.

I realized then , what it was that Walt Whitman, John Muir, Teddy Roosevelt, and Jack Kerouac , and all those poets and explorers were all hot and bothered about.

The road is alive .

Is a church

and a song, breathing through the pines, and sighing over the prairie

All these years later, it still is.

A lot of deaths, actually, because I feel I have to include all the people whose paths through this life intersected with mine . People who wandered into the pastures of my life , established themselves ,even peripherally , as a presence in my life , then just left- Died , or just opted out, somehow.

Witnesses to my ever-changing understanding of the world around me, my growing unease with the instability of facts and ideals held sacred ; the absence of the very idea of safety- those that know and love me ( and they were numerous, thankfully ) served as guardrails. Their presence was my certainty of the positive outcome that this life of mine was going to enjoy.

You should know now ( and it may have already been evident ) , that I always talked a big game, when it came to brave statements about an acceptance of the perpetual change that is the human experience - I said I wasn’t scared, and within the confines of my understanding, I really meant it and believed it.

The thing is , is that I thought you’d all still be here , I guess.

When time came to collect its due; Billy and Peter would arrive in time with jokes and pleasant distractions, with myself still leaning on what Ive come to call my “false economy of time “ - where everything was still possible, and still possessed of my mother’s overly optimistic take on life, I would be safe from the icy reality of the permanence of death.

That life will provide answers for me along the way and things will eventually make sense

“ we will understand it better / by and by “ goes the old gospel chorus, but I think its less an understanding we will achieve in the end, and more of a benign surrender.

The mornings will keep coming. The sun will bow out each day in impossible golden oceans of light in ways that cant be replicated.

Or drop down from behind a slab of gray cloud-cover that denied us its full glory for a day, half heartedly illuminating the tired sky, before it slips into the ocean These events ; all curated for THIS life , THIS crop of humans.

That’s us, Peter and Billy- Too young for the summer of love, but just in time for the fallout from Woodstock ; timed just right for the psychedelic revolution , but also the mediocre 20 minute drum solo-

Indeed ; not all the ideas were great, but they were coming at us fast and furious- Like being dragged by our heels through light-speed fields of color , like that scene near the end of Kubrick’s “ 2001 : A space Odyssey “, spit out at the end of that tunnel of light , into the future promised ,with all the electronic gee-gaws and grandiose gear that would help us midwife the dreaming we hadn’t even had yet .

We believed we were ready, though ,and we lit out from our homes , and our schools, and our parents houses, to begin the heroes journey we’d heard and read about, the metallic taste of the first hour of LSD at the back of our tongues, with our guitars and amplifiers packed into the back of the blue Chevy station wagon that leaked exhaust into the car, adding brain damage to the overall effect of the overly potent weed we were smoking on the way. I wrote a song to narrate the journey we were undertaking, to insure it would assume mythical qualities in the future telling of our story, because I knew this was going to be extraordinary . We were writing our history to be one to one day be read out loud ; that this magical energy we were feeling and seeing in everything and each other would survive the telling -

That people in the future who weren’t there, were going to wish that they had been -

These were the days of our transformation from ordinary suburban spawn, to some new kind of electric avatars - we were going to be something new and as of yet unnamed ; with enough of our childhoods left in our earthly forms to wave goodbye to , as we lifted off into the column of fire that RayBradbury spoke of in “ Childhood’s End “ .

In that moment, we crossed over , and we began to become what we were meant to be, and I still, after all these intervening years, have no idea what it was.

All we could do in later years was shake our heads and exchange that knowing glance that says what we can no longer put into words the …,.”thing” that would encapsulate the experience - that moment came and went long ago

We can only be sure that SOMETHING extraordinary happened; saw it light up the sky for all with eyes to see to bear witness,then come back to earth as dust and a story that gets harder and harder to tell, the further away it gets from us.

The years have come and gone ; just blew crazy through our lives and out of reach and beyond any hope of containment -

That’s not how time works , and Ive found that all the stuff those Buddhist scholars said about taking a stance in time; to try to cling to moments and people as you knew them, turns the forward thrust of the days , into a corrosive, eroding force.

That was real.

The only option available, was acceptance

The lesson learned is that one can only ride the river of time , and simply go where it’s taking you. Otherwise , get stuck in the eddying whirlpools near the river banks and sandbars and go mad , or disintegrate , trying to standstill in the unrelenting push of the rivers return to the sea.

I think Ive surrendered myself at this point, and i know where its an ocean in my future , which is also my end , where we all await whatever is waiting.

I will make my peace.

I am not trying to write a eulogy for dear friends who’ve been gone for years at this point, Im giving them the shoutout they deserve , if for no other reason, than to hear their names called out in a loud and crowded rock and roll bar again, or hear their stories retold on a night like this , the sky crowded with stars and the lantern-watch of a trillion little lights, earmarked for their safe journey home

A beacon , an aspiration

You made me feel like I was on the side of righteousness-

Your superior strength and grace / an athletic Greek ideal,

only with a savage enjoyment that you took in the cries of the bested -

it was part of who you were -

you saw poetry in their

Punishments

and I winced at hints of cruelty-

Eventually ,I had begun to notice

Anomalies ; stories that did not fit the narrative you promoted to me, but

maybe I just missed something -

-like I came in late to the lecture, and didnt get a key

detail , that would’ve put your actions in the proper context..

These punks just don’t understand who they’re dealing with-

but the truth is ; it was I / who was traveling blind -

I was the one living in the doctored history-

You had all the edge with me , all the benefit of the doubt -

Now, you’re all the doubt, with nothing of benefit -

It seems important to my cause now , that you understand

What has happened here -

Your facade / the bully boy strongman and righteous avatar of my youth ,

was really just another bully / running scared

on feet of clay -

Understand ,

I take no pleasure in this revelation

You were what I believed in

And now

So much that I never wanted to see / that just couldnt be true

has to be picked through / if Im to salvage any of the good you were..

The yawning canyon of bullshit stories, some of them the very basis of my beliefs -

Stretches from here , through to my early childhood, and poised as it was

on this very precipice of belief in your integrity / and solely that

And so -

bolted to nothing substantial-

All that trust,

fell into the sinkhole that opened up -

Into such an enormous nothing / Im still feeling my way along the walls

To get back to the beginning / to some pinprick of light

I could navigate by -

My rage at you / is nearly dwarfed by my sorrow

But I will not let your damnation be mine, as well-

I have so much ground to cover before it gets dark,

I will leave you to sort yourself out

You set this fire, you can stay here and watch it burn-

Myself ,

I will use the light that remains

to find my way back home

1776 , though, is kind of a no-brainer, primarily since that year has been drilled into every school kid’s head from kindergarten on.

The year of the birth of America ; celebrated every 4th of July .

But any would-be scholar of American history, would tell you that even the most cursory analysis of the recorded events from the dawn of our country’s history, would reveal that its far more complicated than that-

-That there were skirmishes for years after the signing of that Declaration of Independence

- The founding father’s desire to form a coalition of states was far from consensual in some cases ; with particular states ( largely the south ) having an opposing economic engine to maintain from the north, which was, in Lincoln’s words; that “ Peculiar institution “ of slavery. Like racism, slavery was everywhere, pretty much, but the plantations and life styles of the antebellum south, could only be sustained through the subjugation of human beings. So, they had to view black people as inferior creatures

The souths economy was driven by its agriculture, so it had a particularly vested interest in having free labor. But then, the textile industry, which the northeastern colonies were dependent on, needed the cotton that was being harvested by slaves in the south. So, not everyone from the north was onboard with the idea of all men being created equal, since their fortunes were dependent on the use of human machinery that they didnt have to pay. The south passed those savings onto the customer, so to speak.

• Many, maybe most,of the colonists were fine with being subjects of King George (who was just starting to show signs of being batshit crazy) Besides, England and the monarchy were way over on the other side of the pond, so , - Out of sight; out of mind, pardon the pun.

• Britain had colonies all over the world, which is what is meant by the old slogan, “ the sun never sets on the British empire “ - the empire was worldwide, so, the sun was always high in the sky everywhere the Union Jack was planted. The planting of that flag, of course, gave Britain rights to that country’s resources, whether that country liked it or not. The early colonists were all born under monarchy, so, it was just business as usual and please-be-upstanding-for-the-king for these British subjects - That is, till things started getting pricey ..

• The stamp tax was just rude in the eyes of the colonists, and a bridge too far, in terms of what loyalty to the crown was starting to cost. So, the primary motivation for the colonists to breakaway was far less romantic in scope - it was about fiscal exploitation. “ Taxation without representation, is tyranny ! “, etc…

  The “freedom” our forefathers sought, was freedom from responsibility of having to help the monarchy refill its coffers, which were seriously depleted from wars it was fighting on several fronts. War is expensive. War WILL, however, enrich the men behind the industries which provide countries with the tools of war, which provides them with the incentive to influence politicians to make war. An enemy is needed, of course, but thats where buying up media comes in - a conflict can be manufactured through news story biases, and day after day, an unwitting, passive viewer of these broadcasts, can eventually be manipulated into believing that some country or individual, is evil , and wants to destroy our “American freedom “. Fill their minds with enough convincing propaganda, they’ll even be willing to put themselves in harms way to fight this noble fight .

  Ultimately , though, it’s all in the name of some dark agenda , some faceless industrial giant, who serves no one’s interests but his own.

  • I know that my narrative has fallen down a rabbit hole, but thats the point -Truth is complicated, but right & wrong really isn’t that complicated- if “ rightness “ is the result of an action, it’s RIGHT . We HAVE to address morals with the logic born out of the heart, because the heart is the only true compass of morality , and the only evidence, really, of anything that could be considered “ divinity” within us. Fact- Save from the remaining indigenous population of North America, We are ALL descendants of immigrants . EVERY country has a history of evil cruelty, at one point or another , and thats just human nature; the way we are. We’ve always done unbelievably shitty things to each other in the name of survival. We ( white people ) came to the “ new world” ( new to us, at any rate ) seeking good fortune . Unfortunately, that required , eventually , the murder of its original inhabitants, a fact of history that gets largely glossed over. Conservatives ( as they like to call themselves ) consider an honest telling of our history “ anti-American “. I have always thought that was at best, ignorant, at worst, cowardly. I feel if we could look honestly at ourselves, we could change our destiny. I believe it is our fear of confronting our past, that will lead to our relegation to the dustheap of history - a promising , but flawed experiment in democracy, destroyed by racism, cowardice , and greed. The sacrifice of lives in World War Two , in defense of liberty and for the destruction of fascism, laid to waste by the grandsons and daughters of those who fought that war, who are so ignorant of their own history, they have willingly allowed oligarchs and fascist stooges of the wealthy, insinuate themselves into the very bulwark of this nation.

    “ A house divided against itself, cannot stand “, said Abraham Lincoln .

    Yet, here we are - too many of my countrymen and women believe a convicted felon with no real understanding at all of what it means to lead a diverse democratic nation , and respect its governing constitution, is the best candidate for the presidency, and that he should be able to make unilateral decisions , and subvert the rule of law on a whim-

    To threaten our allies. To murder and lie to our faces. To make brazen power grabs and refer to his countrymen as “ vermin “ .

    I am unable to abide the bizarre and mindless support of this authoritarian bully.

    At the end of the day, I have nothing in common with his supporters, except biology- we’re both human. Yet, he or she or they has succumbed to the propaganda his favorite “ news” program has pumped into their heads; propaganda that has hypnotized them to believe that the most powerless of their neighbors are the ruination of our country, while wealthy captains of industry siphon off jobs to foreign lands, where workers are paid slave wages, to maximize profits, and while they profit billions, they demand tax breaks ,as they refer to affordable healthcare as “ extreme leftist ideology “, and all this is done, right to their faces, and STILL they don’t give a shit. Facts and logic mean nothing to these people, and I can’t handle the suicidal stupidity anymore. It’s NOT just MY opinion versus theirs . They refuse to acknowledge the bald-faced hypocrisy and juvenile and petty behavior, the braggadocio more commonly associated with indulged 5-year olds. I just cant believe they think this asshole is a great leader. Over THIRTY women have come forward to accuse him of sexual abuse, and the Epstein files paint him as being even worse than initially believed .He’s a stupid, cowardly, lying sack of shit, who after promising not to touch it at first , then mere days later tore down the east wing of the White House; without permission ( it’s NOT his fucking house, it’s OURS ), to build a fucking BALLROOM. NONE of this offends his ardent supporters, so, in the interest of all that is decent and fair, I cant have people who refuse to be honest and truthful about REALITY in my life anymore. This is NOT just an opinion.

    This stuff really happened , in real time, right in front of our faces, signaling a great big fuck you to anyone who isn’t him, including YOU- you suckers who are STILL ok with this, Im sorry; but I can’t have you in my life. Something has corrupted your mind, and you no longer can tell right from wrong.

    Welcome to the new Reich

    Featuring some former friends and (in some cases ) family-

    No, please - dont trouble yourself-

    I already read your fucking brochure

    I cant support this

    I refuse to blame brown people for your shitty life

    This is really happening- in real time…

    You can have my bunk at the camp

    Arbeit Macht Frei , motherfucker- but, hey -

    Look!

    he put those golden doodads on the iron gates

    Everyone says they’re the best

    A lot of people are saying he’s the greatest ever ,‘ and you should just come out with your hands up

    You can do this easy or you can do this hard

    You’re already dead, anyway

    We’re so lucky to have him

    Only he can fix it

    If you’re still hot

    Some very bad people have said things they’re not allowed to say

    A lot of people are saying , that the only way

    Is his -

  • Please…dont do this…

  • End of transmission

It doesn’t choose sides; existing outside and above agendas, where it dwells in a queasy alliance with its cousin ; Facts, which are a little more ephemeral.

Facts are born out of perceptions of phenomena, things happening ,

whereas Truth isn’t as dependent on “witnesses “ - Truth is the result of an accurate assessment of facts, and even if facts aren’t accurately assessed , the truth will still be in there, somewhere.

Facts appear in relation to where or how their witnesses experience them. Each witness ; filtering phenomena through their own receptors ( hearing, seeing, etc. ), through whatever limitations their individual senses are subject to. It brings to mind the old saw about the five blind guys and the elephant ; each one touching a different part of the elephant, and each one giving their opinion on what they think an elephant is like , and they’re bewildered by the contradictory opinions of the others -

Ex. “It’s like a rope “, says the guy who held the elephants tail. “ what are you talking about ?! It’s definitely more like a hose ! “, says the guy who held the trunk. Etc..

Truth is truth, whether you can see it, or not. It doesn’t choose sides, nor require your favorable opinion to exist

So, it’s hard, when reality stands in stark contrast to The Truth ; or , rather, what you’ve long held to be true , the way it MUST be

It’s REALLY hard, in fact -

It is SO hard ; that there are people who’ll outright refuse to acknowledge contradictory data , no matter how it’s presented to them, and simply cannot and will not adapt their stances to the changing information- it actually threatens their grasp on reality. It challenges authorities and beliefs considered sacrosanct , and the legitimacy of these authorities, is not up for discussion- even just questioning their legitimacy, will illicit a deep moral outrage. The emotions churned up in a challenge to one’s thinking, serve to glue beliefs in place; forming a rampart that they can relate to, to stand behind

Strong emotions make critical thought nearly impossible for people who , due to lack of knowledge and understanding, need things kept simple. Nuance is largely absent from their speech ( or thinking ), and they are often distrustful of people who employ a more varied lexicon when speaking. All them fancy words start to sound like an actual affront to the rock that they cling to in an insanely complicated world.

For these people, beliefs, not facts, are sacred.

Especially when that belief is an inherited one , passed along from someone foundational in someone’s life. Like mother. Like daddy. Or maybe its a belief forged out of necessity, for ones very survival; like the beliefs shared by the people you served your country with in a time of war - the people who shared a trial-by- fire with ; especially friends who gave their young lives to the cause ; their bones now interned in some foreign field, far from the home soil they died for - lonely , homesick phantoms, haunting the dreams of these aging warriors, many of whom suffer with the guilt that often haunts survivors of wars and other catastrophes. Theirs is a hard-won set of beliefs, and who dares argue ? Who the fuck are YOU, to say these heroic survivors are wrong? Their truth is comfort in the face of terrible loss; and who would have the temerity to deny them this ? Have they not suffered enough ?

Does their sacrifice, earn them the right to mold the Truth, into the shape of what they believe , what they HAVE to believe ?

Objectivity has no traction in the mind of the believer. It feels, to the believer, more like sacrilege.

Also , strongly held beliefs don’t necessarily need arise from some traumatized conviction - they can simply be some “ anecdotal wisdom “ passed down from your granny . The opinions of someone who was a comforting presence in your young life ; who believed in you , who loved you , who baked you cookies…

So, so what, if she was an avowed racist, who thought non-whites were inferior ? How could anyone who did what she did for me, be a bad person ? It’s unthinkable, therefore, cannot be rationally discussed - its an insult to the memory of a beloved person, which cannot be tolerated.

I believe with the introduction of the 24 hour news cycle, now flowing through the arteries of the internet, infusing our as-of-yet poorly adapted to floods of information mammalian brains with unvetted data , that shape our realities before we can even engage critical thought - IF we even CAN think critically about information , thats been carved into algorithmic edifices , which manage to lodge themselves into the cerebral cortex, managing to evade any internal discourse, or evaluation, of the prescience of said data -

so sleek, so digestible it was, this data, that our intellectual enzymes just gobbled up the empty calories and out right toxins this data was able to skirt past any natural defenses we may have in our base brains, designed to protect us from harmful misdirection and delusion.

Before we knew what it was, it had already attached itself to the place where our core beliefs were, and in many unwitting souls , replaced that core altogether with the algorithms new script. A new , malignant virus, fed by base-brain fears, turning every unknown or unfamiliar into an existential threat.

Feeding the beast of disunity, the ones with the most to gain from our fragmentation; you know ; the usual suspects - the billionaire / ruling class , through owning the info-troughs the masses devour their doctored data from, are able to focus their fears and resentments away from themselves. They manufacture our next enemy. They are able to portray themselves , as being just like us. They use the language of solidarity and inclusion , tell us who to blame for our misery, while they pull the rope ladder up behind them.

The go-to move ? Start a war. They’ve already allocated the cannon fodder , fueled by propaganda gleaned from infotainment and internet conspiracy rabbit-holes they’ve dug into their minds. They still think they’re fighting “ for their country “, while simultaneously supporting the dismantling of the infrastructure of our democracy. The children of the billionaire aristocracy wont bleed in these wars. They send these poor bastards to die side-by-side with the people they’d been instructed to hate, who signed up to fight, even though they were demonized, but signed up, anyway, in hopes they would finally be treated like human beings by proving their loyalty to the American Ideal. Good luck with that.

In the current Era, the tenuously affixed bandaid of respectful discourse, has been crudely ripped off ; all in the name of a manufactured crisis - the ruling elite, feeling the hot breath of the plundered and discarded masses on its neck, has sent word to its various propaganda outlets, to stir the brew of fear, ignorance, and resentment that they’ve concocted for the last quarter century in the various chat rooms and threads that the internet is riven with, so that the golden calf of their political and sociological deliverance ; himself a product of the very class of entitled, power-hungry whores that has robbed them blind, has convinced them , unironically, that only HE could save them from the likes of himself; that he may now be installed as the quasi-Christ-like figure they require, all with the masses’ blind acquiescence and approval.

To question this idol, in keeping with the medieval , torch-bearing mob-mentality required for membership to the mob, is an unforgivable blasphemy.

Hangings too good for ‘em… Killing isn’t enough -

they must be erased -

Their history, their values ; all of it.

All of our truths , must be based on the whim of the dear leader, which often requires a moments notice retraction of a previously held belief ; because, as he stated before ; Only he can fix us, and we are only fixable if we’re obedient.

It also helps if we are “ hot “ , as well. Only then will we have his attention.

And on and on…

I can only say this with what amounts to absolute certainty for me, from my limited perspective - Truth speaks to us from wisdom - In my heart, I can hear with clarity the words of the despot, from the words of a healer

From there, I can discern the inherent truth in speech that expresses loving concern for those affected by what is said.

The heart is the true north of wisdom -

It speaks volumes from the rooftops, that those in the shadow of the valley, and those who walk the common path through their days on this earth, can hear it .

These words will echo, long after the speaker is gone.

The lessons I first learned when I was a child that I actually remember, were taught by teachers who knew that I may have a hard time understanding these lessons. So, they patiently gave me examples to examine and follow,, so that my developing mind could fully integrate the new information. They wanted me to understand, so that eventually, I would KNOW -

I trusted these teachers, not so much for the knowledge they were transmitting to me, but for their kindness and patience in its transmission.

This gave what they taught me the ring of Truth.

It wasn’t WHAT they taught me, it was HOW they taught me.

“ The medium is the message “ , Marshall McLuhan proclaimed back in the 60’s, and I understand that now, more than ever , as anger, fear, and hatred have become the background music for any ideological discussion taking place in the various mediums that people employ to air their grievances or proclaim their agendas.

Some stupid, racist or sexist rant, spewed in the heat of a minor traffic accident, or some such like, can for the first time in human history, be recorded and broadcast all over the world in seconds. To people susceptible to this kind of anger, it will resonate with some dark part of their psyche , that’s been waiting for a consensus to express itself. From there, it either gathers momentum from the acknowledgment of other angry people, or it just piffles away - just another regrettable, minor incident -

But it’s out there now ; alive and darting its way through the ethers, courtesy of the potential eternal life it’s been granted by the internet . Now, it has a chance to enter the mind of someone who cant handle the pain of their lives, and as they look for distraction in video reels and Tik-toks , their hunger for resolution , latches onto some nasty bit of work , saying something , somewhere in the world, that scratches that angry itch in their minds- the itch that needs someone or something to blame, and the internet provides all the slanted misinformation one could ask for, just a tap on a keyboard away, any hour, from just about anywhere on Earth.

We have entered the future .

Unfortunately, we brought ourselves with us .

We are still so motivated by fear, grief, jealousy and rage, you’d think that love wouldn’t stand a chance to be heard above that chaotic chorus.

However, it is love that is the primary element behind our will to understand and to reason out the maelstrom of data thats flooded our brains; ever since the first ancestor chose to climb down out of the primordial jungle canopy , and stand up straight, and shade his eyes for a better look across the sunny vista that stretched out in all directions before him.

As he scanned the Savanah for predators , or sustenance ; what was he thinking , in that under developed frontal lobe ? Likely, the only thoughts he ( or she ) had, concerned survival - the search for food, and the avoidance of predators , finding shelter and finding mates.

His or her desire to live, I think, was the first tendrils of what , eventually, grew beyond want, into love . Our brains had to grow to accommodate this flowering of our intellect. For our brains to grasp abstract thought and powerful , yet ephemeral concepts like love, we had to grow it out a bit, like badly cut bangs.

Then, once we knew love, we were able to grasp Truth. We didn’t need it explained to us why lying corrupted us - for love to survive, it required truth

That little guy standing at the edge of the jungle would , eventually, go on to create cultures, and religion ( to explain all the weird and scary stuff, prior to the arrival of science and logic ) and all sorts of complicated value systems. The one thing that has never become redundant , is the need for Truth. The search for truth, ironically, has become infinitely more complicated in this, the “ information Era “.

Data is information, gleaned from, but not necessarily, actual facts .

Humankind is charged with the holy task of the preservation of Truth; for future generations to recognize and revere, and we are unlikely to ever have a complete consensus of what that actually is…

And thats the truth…: )

I wasn’t THAT much older ; maybe four or five years; I just knew it wasnt appropriate for me to court you, as they say in the old school lingua Franca -

Instead, you became part of my social landscape .

My family and yours, sort of blended a little.

This has been the pattern for my life -

I meet someone; we become friends, then, family.

My time here on Earth, has been a long, swirling dance , with changing music & partners, as I move down the line, dosie-do’ing in and out of relationships, returning to certain partners, again and again, then, letting them go, twirling past me into other connections of people, some of whom to never come back to resume the dance with me; having found others to bond with, and follow the spiral off towards wherever they may be headed.

I know they’re out there somewhere, though , and I can smile inwardly, hoping they remember me with some fondness . I am grateful for our acquaintance, and I wish them well in their journey - may the road rise to meet them, and good fortune bless their steps.

I could never have steeled myself for the losses that I would start to encounter on this leg of the journey.

Sure, your parents are supposed to go before you, just as a mercy -

But I know people, who did not receive that mercy -

People whose children struggled with some issue that came with their birth, that they , eventually, succumbed to. People whose children could not bear the endless and dark grind of deep depression any longer, despite chemical interventions and the loving support of parents and friends. Children who were killed in accidents.

Murdered. All the most unbearable fates ; happening, for real.

Even just writing it out feels awful, and I have to just push it out of my mind and look away quickly. Except for my cousin, Johnny , who died of a totally fucking random cerebral hemorrhage, most of the deaths that affected me , directly, came in some kind of “proper” order.

My parents passing came with no real drama , and both had suffered ill health for a considerable amount of time, so their deaths came as SOME kind of relief ….

Still, it was hard to let go . I never tried to imagine life without my mother, but here it is, anyway.

I never finished my work with my dad, but I guess I did, because thats how our story played out. How it was, is how I will remember it.

It seemed premature , maybe a bit unfair ; but thats not really true.

Cancer is cancer is cancer…It’s just one of the billion and one ways we go.

The machinery of life on Earth; a well-oiled, time tested , perfectly functioning system of elements that come-together-to-be, exist as a more complex thing, then disintegrate back to those basic elements that, so we’re told, were born in the nuclear furnaces of stars.

My mom & Dad arranged for my arrival at Hackensack Hospital, in northern New Jersey. My mother, hosting my portion of stardust , divided equally into the dividing cells, intending to assemble themselves into me.

There were complications, but Ive made this collection of “ ambulatory variables “more or less work.

I had my childhood. Survived accidents and illnesses long enough to travel, work, sing

& play, raise a family, then see my family begin another family.

Today, I am remembering loved ones , now absent.

This morning, while washing the previous night’s dishes, a sob escaped my throat, briefly; a result of these spiraling helixes of thought that I am prone to, that seem intent on dredging up all these memories and names and faces .

Circumstances that I can do nothing to change , past events I was powerless to prevent,

Or were inevitable, like your death, which we all agree, came too soon -

A death that was a shock, seemingly inappropriate, given how young you were in my memory, a memory still eddying in the shallows of almost 50 years ago.

This was a cruel denouement to the loose weave of your life, with new threads still being added all the time to your lovely tapestry.

You weren’t done ; and we certainly weren’t done watching you evolve.

Cancer pulled itself into your story, and tied the final knot.

Still ; I’ve come to believe that there aren’t any mistakes, really , in the unfurling of these days; though our losses seem senseless and unfair. Anyway , who can I shake my fist at ? Where do I lodge my complaint ?

All this silence, is the voice of every soul, who’s come and gone, everyone of them , cherishing whatever pleasure they may have had, however fleeting

The burden of responsibility , for any life worth living ( and they ALL are ) is mine -

In order to live with the terrible and beautiful truth of the hairs’ width mark we leave upon this ancient , sweet , blue world, I MUST be the one who speaks up at the judgement-

I GET it - this is ALL gift .. you & I

- we were extraordinarily blessed , to be born in a modern era, where the commonplace conveniences of the twentieth century were always available to us-

We were the stuff of ancient myth, able to fly , & due to modern science , able to live to be quite old..

Well, I was , anyway…so far…

My point is, is I only regret losing track of people ( like yourself ), who had impacted me, who were more important to me , than I ever got to say.

Now, my relationship with you is forever memory

You have left us ash , ash , and your garden

Your children, your grandchildren - all grown out of you

An egg, a seed , inside you, even when you were the young , tender

child that I knew in that summer , at our beginnings - still so much to come,

I tuck the last thread of your memory into the last knot of your tapestry, cinched in tight & forever

Till I join you in dust, and the threads of memory, no longer attended by anyone we knew

And we become

Just a story , nothing to be sorrowful about , because

It was a good time, & thats all anyone ( IF anyone )

will ever need to know -

It was so good, and you were so beautiful, and I was just happy that I got to know you

At all

She can do it in 45 minutes, if she takes the thruway down, and you stay the fuck out of her way ; and it’s probably wise to do as she says. Her diminutive stature, belies the bob cat within - one that fiercely loves and defends her students, colleagues, and friends, and fights daily to get her charges the hard won education these extremely needful children require, and that their parents hope against hope, that Rebecca can provide. In some ways, Rebecca is the best hope that they have - someone who will take on the , at times, nearly impossible tasks , like -

Teaching these kids to say their own names, or learn to say anything at all.

Recognize shapes and colors

Look you in the eye and say hello, say goodbye

Most of the students at her school are severely autistic , and are unlikely to ever be able to take care of themselves independently . It is hard to imagine the worry of the parents of these children - for the rest of their lives , wondering ; who will love and protect their adult child, after they are gone ? Are they condemned to isolation in some asylum ? Who will care enough to advocate for this loved one, who has never said “ I love you “, or even “thank you “ ? Or maybe is prone to seizures that are hard to recognize at times, due to the child’s silent nature ? Or tends to panic and lashe out, without a favorite stuffed toy in hand ?

Sometimes, they wind up another statistic, maybe shot by a startled cop, who has no training in dealing with autistic persons, and only sees a large, agitated person flailing about, who isn’t angry , but instead, is frightened and disoriented , lost in a loud , complex and terrifying world , that doesn’t make any sense, and wont give them back the plush toy, that keeps their fear in check, and smells like home ?

These are the souls that got caught between worlds, cast into systems they cant understand, driven by odd, often disturbing compulsions they have no grasp of , or any control over.

They are absolutely vulnerable, and totally dependent on the mercy of the world.

For these kids, this school is an Oasis of mercy ; and it is : a combination of wise civic investment, and our “better angel’s “ ambitions to leave no one behind -

We get there together, or we don’t get there at all .

However, all civic enterprises are prone to administrative bone-headedness , eventually, like all human endeavors ; but schools like Rebecca’s, require tremendous energy, and an often superhuman reserve of patience, in the face of heartbreakingly frustrating labors, labors that can only be sustained , if born out of compassion, and love. The best teachers and aides and direct support staff, wind up becoming emotionally invested, because they had to first make themselves “ available “ to their charges . Conversations with the Neuro-divergent , start with , well, letting them feel your vibes, so to speak . In short, you make a genuine effort to find them, wherever they are. God knows what my words sound like to this person; so, Ive got to let him or her show me what they know, however he or she conveys it to me.

I have to learn their language , and It’s weird sometimes ; but I liken it to suddenly taking up the bassoon , after a lifetime of playing the bugle.

It’s just a very different set of chops you have to develop.

I admit to feeling pretty good about myself, when a long-time moody, difficult kid, seems more calm and relaxed when I’m around them.

As I mentioned, Rebecca , seems to know the heart of all her students. Even the seemingly lizard-brained Kid behind the pvc pipe & canvas movable barriers , is celebrated for simply not chewing his adult diaper off, with his pants still on.

( true story)

I watch her with her students, and I know , she bears the burden of worry for all of them.

Rebecca leaves no one behind , though she’d just love it , if they would stop pulling aides out of her classroom, almost everyday, leaving her with 3 support staff for 6 one-on-one students. It’s nuts, sometimes ; I often feel like a plate spinner, running to and fro between the plates, trying to get to the wobbly ones in time .

Some kid cant sit down , and this kid wont stand up -

smells a bit pissy, all of a sudden, too.

The teacher, tells the kid who can barely sit still , that if he returns to his seat and waits his turn, Ms. Rebecca will call on him to go up to the big list of kid songs listed on the touchscreen at the front of the classroom, and pick whatever song he likes and for about 15 minutes, he complies.

Rebecca beams at this twilight child.

Her eyes twinkle , as she smiles with obvious affection ; and says , “ good job, D. !”, and he is radiant with joy.

Her job requires her to celebrate every tiny victory with them ; every wisp of growth, every fraction of improvement, and for some of these kids, this is likely the only place they ever get this kind of consistent praise and appreciation

She is their teacher.

Most days , though, she’s more like a Shepherd -

Protecting the flock , mostly from itself, and often having to go deep into the cognitive wilderness they are lost in, to return them back to the fold.

Rebeccas heart is a radar ; a beacon

For all these mute seraphim to follow,

and none shall be left behind

She has an amazing singing voice. She’s also quite beautiful.

She also speaks up against bullies and shitheads, with their belligerence towards all who would voice their displeasure with idol ; Trump , the spray tan Mussoweenie , who, along with that vile little succubus, Stephen Miller, are waging all out culture war against all the non-billionaires. Helped along by his little armies of angry, self pitying and poorly- informed proletariat foot soldiers, who remain clueless to who their ACTUAL enemies are, and have swallowed the steaming heap of bullshit propaganda , doled out by Fox News , and Newsmax and other hacks.

It doesn’t seem to bother them that EVERY TIME Fox has been sued for broadcasting lies and smear campaigns , the go-to defense has always been, “ we’re not news, we’re entertainment “

Even THEY dont believe their own horseshit .

They paid out over 700 million dollars to the Dominion company, for lying about how the voting machines they produced were tampered with.

Anyway , my songbird friend has never shied away from speaking her truth, which I inevitably find myself wholeheartedly supporting She actually has caused me to look within , and ask myself if I was keeping mum on our current deplorable state of affairs, out of a desire to be liked by everybody .

I really had some serious issues with self-worth when I was a kid, for various reasons, and that kind of patterned thinking is hard to unlearn. Reading the things this woman posted, inspired me to stop playing at being so goddamn ingratiating all the time, or at least, stop worrying about what people think, and just dive in to the maelstrom seas of public opinion . I think that we ALL have to grow a pair of whatever we need to be sporting down there when we need to be brave, when we voice an opinion that might rankle a few folks ; and maybe get their dander up, and possibly voice an opinion of ME, that’ll get me all wobbly and emotional .

See? I still have a LONG way to go, to get to “ dont give a fuck “ status. Ive already fired a few shots, in a kind of reverse-Fort Sumpter situation, here in the early stages of what is shaping up to be a genuine cultural civil war, and possibly ( god forbid ) an actual modern Civil war.

Truth is, if youre a brown-skinned person, its already a bonafide war- with raids ,and kidnappings, tear gassing, rubber AND real bullets, riots and beatings, and the whole ugly panoply and specter of civil conflict, escalating to good-knows-where.

Families and neighborhoods are already devastated., Children are traumatized.Bullies and cowards have been given authority to randomly round up and assault people, EXACTLY like 1930’s Germany. Yeah- Im calling these pricks FUCKING NAZIS ,

And fuck YOU, Bill Maher , you lame, grade “ B” punster, with your bong in your mouth, and your head up your ass. I used to kind of like you, when you weren’t pretending to be smarter than you are. The left is NOT the monolith of waffling, lukewarm weaklings to write them all off as - unless you want to go looking for them, because yes, they exist ( you’re actually a great example of what you bitch about ), but you come at me with your “ Trumps a good guy “ , and raise you one Bernie Sanders ; a man who has dedicated his life to serving his fellow Americans, even the nimrods who wouldnt know colonel Ghadaffi from colonel Sanders, and think socialism of ANY form is evil, as they collect their social security and wave at the community-based fire trucks going by, with their Chinese -made flags , blissfully ignorant of their double standards , and single-issue voting ( “ dont take mah gun …!! ) tendencies. Bernie doesn’t judge these rubes - he understands WHY they’re ignorant, and simply strives to tell them the truth about what oligarchs are, if he can keep their abbreviated attention spans engaged long enough for them to actually learn who’s REALLY bending them over a radiator, convincing them to die in rich men’s wars, or be branded a coward , or a traitor , kinda like President bone spurs.. You know- the guy who called guys that got called up for war “ losers “ ( LOOK IT UP , HE SAID THAT )…,

Anyway , Im pissed. I’m also, despite what the whores like Hannity and Watters at Fox News told you , right.

You are not compelled in any way to agree with me.

Hopefully, one day, it wont make me sick to my stomach with sadness , to find that another decent person, has had their minds poisoned with party-line bullshit, and the lamest “ lookit what a patriotic Christian I am ! Unlock your Glock for Christ !

I just hope your toddler doesn’t find the fucking thing , and level it at his playmate, before you wake up from your beer-induced coma, in front of your T.V., already blaming Jews and queers and Mexicans ( probably ) , for whatever Hannity just told you is wrong with whatever, and wondering if youve got enough stashed away to purchase a Trump bible, AND a Trump watch..

I am So fucking sad for this country…

I love my home, I love this dream of brotherhood and a chance to have a better life..

My songbird reminds me, there is a long row to hoe,

I have a lot of reading to do, And Ive got to tell my truth, and remember .. ALWAYS - stay human - forgive, but dont eat any more shit, just to be nice,

This is life during wartime - dont waste energy on the dead brains- let em’ bleed out, you did your best- save your love for the ones who want it-

Just keep moving , look alive, and read everything you can- Teach each other , learn from each other !

Read EVERYTHING -

Books, papers, the wind

And eyes

“ it is good that you learn the white man’s tongue, that way, he can never deceive you again…” - Chief Red Cloud, to the Native American graduating class of 1885, Lehigh, Pennsylvania

I feel that I need to point out at the outset, to anyone reading this, who’s familiar with my usual “ c’mon people, now / smile on your brother ‘ ..etc..shtick ; Im not the wistful hippie idealist of my youth. I know too much now . Ive seen , first hand , the dangers of the world, and how there’ll likely always be selfish, ignorant, shitheads and bullies, and we must protect the weak from them. Problem is, that the weak will often vote against their own interests, due to poor education and / or a steady diet of bad information. I am genuinely afraid of this cult of stupidity that has beset the Nation. I was baffled back in 2016, when he-that-shall-not-be-named, because-the-sound-of-his-ugly-made-up-name-makes-me-nauseous, mocked a disabled reporter, bragged about pussy grabbing, insulted a female moderator during his campaign , in the most juvenile, sexist way imaginable , and bankrupted TWO casinos, thought that this dimwitted , narcissistic, pedophile-with-daddy-issues, lying asshole , was done in politics; there’s just no way anyone could survive all of this. Turns out, I was clearly very wrong. I had massively underestimated how mean America had become, or how greedy, self-righteous, and frightened, a goodly chunk of the population was, or how willing they were to get suckered by such an obvious fraud, and turn a blind eye and ear to the awful, and disrespectful things he said - about veterans ( “ losers ! “) women ( “ fat”, “ ugly “ “ disgusting” ) races ( other than white ) “ animals “ “rapists” “ criminals “, etc..

They dont care, and are happy to indulge in the mental loop-de-loops required to blame any and all of his abhorrent words and deeds to democrats and a president who’s been out of office for over 8 years.

I don’t see what these people see, obviously.

They see a powerful leader, a physically and mentally fit ,charismatic visionary; a man of the people; whereas I see a bloated, junk food scarfing, spoiled, simple minded, narcissistic, rich-on-daddy’s- money,sexist creep, incapable of nuanced thought, or even coherent conversation, who wants to fuck his daughter, and cant abide ANY disagreements with his completely unthought-out “ policies “, and sees even constructive suggestions from his allies as betrayals, which he has convinced his minions is the same thing as treason. Any contradiction of his words, is a malicious attack on our beautiful country, and should not be tolerated, and they’re all ready to ignore reality and fall in step with his cruel, senseless and weird edicts.

With the creation of Roger Ailes’s ( sp.? I dont give a shit ) right-to-far-right propaganda wing of the Republican Party , Fox News network, the misinformation began in earnest, and all those uneducated, exploited working class people, were able to soothe their sense of hopelessness, betrayal and abandonment by the government, by listening to lying jack offs and whores like Sean Hannity, Bill O’Rielly , “ Doctor” Laura Ingraham, and others, who fed into their fears and resentments and latent racist beliefs, with talk of liberal ‘elites”who talk of “ civil rights “ , who are really just angling to take away their guns and all their freedoms. The ill-educated masses, who have filled their brains with shit T.V. Like “ The Apprentice “ ( starring their new T.V. Show savior , you-know-who ) “The Bachelor “, “ Growing up Gotti “ and “ Keeping up with the Kardashians “, for the last 25-or-so years, cannot discern news from propaganda, and have had their attention spans shrunken down to that of a goldfish, till, in the words of singer/songwriter, Ani DeFranco , “ the little plastic castle / is a surprise / every time “

I never dreamed that the country that landed on the moon in 1969, would, in 2025, be in thrall of such an obvious liar and simpleton, who says things like “I have all the best words “, like a boastful little boy and mistake him for a great statesman. Mostly, apparently, because they saw him on a scripted T.V. Show, and believed he was a shrewd businessman, when in reality, he was nothing more than a one-dimensional, grade “ B” huckster, whose only real gift was the ability to convince some people that he was way richer than he was.

Near as I can tell, his REAL achievement is that he’s made an ugly facet of the American character, forget to feel ashamed of itself.

The great dream of “ all men ( people ) being equal “, has always had to struggle to manifest on earth. America, even with its blood-soaked, cruel, lynch-happy history, seemed to come the closest to creating this vision of a heaven-on-earth ; where people would be judged by the content of their character, and not the color of their skin; that we ALL had a chance to grab the gold ring and the trifecta of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Apparently, all of that is a threat to the billionaire class that we have lazily handed control of the country to, and they have found it necessary to pit us against each other, fighting over the scraps from their table, when it was US that grew and harvested the food they ate, and built the table that their banquet sat on, at the feast that we weren’t invited to-

Im reminded of a song from my childhood

“ ..and though the past had its share of injustice / kind was the spirit / in many a way

But it’s protectors and friends have been sleeping / and now its a monster / that will not obey..”

- John Kay & Steppenwolf , “ Monster “

I know I have alienated some people Ive known for a long time with this diatribe, and it makes me profoundly sad, but it also makes me angry - I have ALWAYS been an inclusive person, who never felt worthy. I endured bullying. I sought the approval of others, often to my detriment, just to get along with everybody; even the people who bullied me.

At 67, I realize that the methodology that I applied in my youth to avoid conflict, has become obsolete . Now, it’s just an indirect form of acquiescence to the bullies, and the bullies have their own T.V. Network now, where they loudly proclaim their victimization, demonizing the most powerless, because they dont have the wisdom or the spine to address the REAL villains - the tiny group of ( mostly ) men , whose greed has taken on the character of madness ; where they can give themselves billion dollar raises, while denying the people who’ve made them so unimaginatively wealthy fair wages and medical care, because it’s “ prohibitively expensive “. They are cartoonish in their greed, and have such contempt for humanity, that its hard to believe -

It’s hard to believe that people who have almost ALL the world’s money, want even more.

Any ONE of these billionaires , could save millions and millions of their brothers and sisters from starvation; and they actively choose NOT to.

Everyday.

Im not calling for revolution, necessarily, but I AM calling for people to get out of the Fox-news mind control net. Read history books ( particularly Howard Zinn ) Learn about other cultures, dont be afraid of differences - NO ONE IS RECRUITING YOU, ( besides Fox News ), be tolerant. Help your neighbors. TALK to your neighbors

Don’t tolerate the Jack boot jack offs , and Stephen Miller is just one or two Horcrux’s away from dissolving into the murky vapor he came from. We’ve been here before, historically, and we can find our way out again.

This is going to be a bumpy ride, sure , but its always been a pretty rough ride;

This journey along the bending arc of history - it’s what made people great - not how much money you’ve accumulated , it’s the willingness to struggle alongside folks still striving to be treated like human beings, because you believe, deep in your heart, that we ain’t there, till we’re ALL there

As I parked my van across the street from the Starbucks, and began unstrapping my boy from his car seat, I heard a loud, angry voice. It was coming from one of the Starbucks patrons, who was sitting at one of the outdoor tables. I went into high parental alert; I sense danger, & I have my child with me. For me, it’s a weirdly beautiful fear - because as my psyche shifts out of its neutral comfort zone, my animal instinct to protect someone I love , takes control. A spike of adrenaline , wakes up my lizard brain, and , suddenly, I become capable of breaking your fucking neck, if necessary, if you so much as TOUCH my child in an unkind way, And the touch doesn’t even need to be physical - verbal abuse can be profoundly damaging to a young child . And believe me, I KNOW - I did 1st through 7th grade in a suburban New Jersey Catholic school in the 60’s , when my only defense was to flinch before being slapped .

I put my son down and took his hand, and walked slowly past my vehicle, which blocked my view of the source of the angry voice across the street. Then, I saw him-

A man, maybe 40, in common biker-bad boy regalia - leather chaps, guinea tee shirt, and over that ; a leather vest, and a bandana and sunglasses, with long-ish, greasy, dirty blonde hair, and a droopy moustache and goatee , right out of a grade B , rebel-without-a-cause movie. He was a full blown , living cliche of a biker badass, loafing outside of Starbucks, loudly whining about the current pathetic state of Harley Davidson _

“ Fucking new Harleys SUCK… fucking CHINKS took it over and RUINED them..Fucking GOOKS don’t know shit about bikes.. their shitty rice-burners Got NOTHING …it’s them fuckin’ slant-eyed rice eaters… “ Etc.

I was shaking as I walked Max briskly down the street. Adding to the tension , was a group of Asian students standing maybe 20 feet away from this guy. They looked to me like they understood what this asshole was saying perfectly well.

There is a popular pizzeria just two doors down from the Starbucks, also with outside seating for customers. I distinctly remember scanning the patrons for a face that I new and trusted, that I could ask if they would watch my son for just a minute ; I had some vigilante business to attend to.. See ; there’s a guy , sitting right over by Starbucks, who needs to have his fucking teeth smashed out of his fucking skull with one of the metal chairs , provided for customers of Starbucks.

I need to hurt this asshole.

You , dear reader, may be thinking , “ wow, Dave…such rage ! ..why so touchy about some common, racist douchebag ? “

Ok, reasonable question, lemme explain-

In 1996 , my then wife and I, after much soul-searching and debate, decided to adopt a baby from China. The whole experience of going to the other side of the planet to get a little girl of our own, to be immersed in the murky cultural and political intrigues that we witnessed , the corruption and blatant bribes we had to pay to officials over there , and the decency and good hearts of ( most ) of the people we encountered, is too big of a story to get into now. Suffice to say, bringing this beautiful and strong, four-month old little girl from the Hunan province; with her beautiful, copper tone skin, thick, black hair, and big , shiny eyes… well, it totally changed my life.

See, this baby not only widened my heart, and changed my understanding of what it means to be family, she also was my introduction to racist ignorance ..

Oh, I was already plenty ( reasonably ) protective of my children, though I didnt shelter them from the occasional awfulness that people are wont to indulge in ; I wanted them to be able to survive on their own, but I also wanted them to know that Im always there for them, if the going got too rough.They could be sure that Dad’s not going anywhere, and for the rest of my life ; I am your warrior.

But this shit was different.

Racism always seemed such an absolutely asinine and mindlessly cruel hatred to me. In 1968, my church was going down to Newark to hear Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King speak.

These were what they called “ the days of rage “, and riots were erupting in all the major cities, and Newark was particularly hard hit. King had been asked to come up and talk to the people of Newark ; to quell the people’s anger and help bring about peaceful dialogue with the authorities, and to find some kind of resolution. But he never made it ; Stopping by the garbage workers strike in Memphis while enroute, he was assassinated on the balcony of his hotel room, by one James Earl Ray .

My church group went down, anyway. I got to see, at 9 years old, children my age and younger, living in total squalor. I’ll never forget that as we marched through the streets, passing by a nearly totally gutted tenement building , peering in through burned out , charred wreckage , I saw a little boy, peering out of the cave-like darkness of what used to be his home, at me - the little white tourist to his misery.

I was a kid, I couldnt comprehend what made people do these things to each other and to themselves. I just knew that it must have been so hopeless and awful for some, that nothing mattered anymore, and the pain and anger and humiliation , became unbearable ; and they’d rather burn it all down , then just perpetuate the systemic oppression, that haunted their lives ,and crushed their dreams.

I knew racism was an evil, and I would never tolerate it willingly , but all my life, I never really had to deal with it first hand,

Till now.

That asshole at Starbucks -

Gooks, chinks, rice eaters.. …he’s talking about MY daughter now … How fucking DARE you, you piece of…

Stop. Just fucking stop, Dave . What happened next , was nothing. There wasnt anyone I knew at the pizzeria, so , I couldnt hand off my son, so I could stomp the shit out of this asshole who was too stupid to comprehend the fact that China just bought what Harley Davidson was selling , and that the sacred cow that represents your delusions of a rugged Individualism, was nothing more than another soulless product -just something else that corporate America had no problem putting on the auction block, and your cliche’, wannabe James Dean , no-nothing wet-dream of yourself , in your little biker costume… My little boy saved your ass, actually ,you dimwit bigot.

See, I didnt want to expose him to the likes of you ; but I also didnt want him see his father succumb to anger, however righteous it may or may not have been. I didnt want to give any legitimacy to the shit you were saying - but it was agony to just walk by and say nothing, like what happened in Newark,

That a goddamn motor bike defines you… and your fantasy chink-free America, America, so proudly we hailed…Well,. It’s pathetic, really. You built your whole world around a mythology you’re too stupid to articulate , even in your own mind.

Who are you ? Just another ignorant bully , dressed up for the dance that he wasnt invited to .

To the little boy I saw in Newark , in April of 1968 -

Im so sorry that I couldnt do anything to help you then, being just a little boy myself ,

But I remember you, and I realized you taught me an immense lesson -

That my rage would only damage my world & change nothing.

& the perpetrators of our worldly suffering , are , ultimately ,no match for the love of family. It just took me a while to realize -that You

& the little girl from China , we’re all family , now

Stephen Miller is the hate gland that republicans stitched onto the half- wit “ reality t.v. personality “ baby man , in order to keep this bellicose bozo’s flaccid corpse juiced up with the necessary bile required to maintain such high levels of mindless cruelty .

I have an unhealthy amount of seething disgust towards Miller - this…

…..Creature, who looks like he went to Nosferatu’s Nazi beauty spa , and said, “ just give me the works “… He has been a hateful creep all of his life ( so far ) , who has convinced himself that his bigotry is his wisdom. Starting out with his whiny, bitch-ass college “ campaign speech “ circling the internet like a vengeful buzzard, with a beak full of maggot infused roadkill, where he asks a mocking crowd if they’re as tired as HE is of having to pick up his own trash, when there are janitors hired to do that, like his mommy did .. I thought, at first, that it was a put- on, but it’s definitely NOT -

He is genuinely THAT petty and vicious, like a cartoon villain -

“ Skeletor “ , from the “He-Man “ cartoon series ,springs to mind.

Just an evil, petty, heartless, little bitch. This asshole takes up too much space in my head, but I genuinely fear what this awful, soul-dead prick is doing to people who are already at the bottom of the social ladder, and want nothing more than to live the dream of the promise of America, the promise that there was a lamp lifted above the golden door , where they could work hard and change their circumstances, all while enjoying the same rights as everyone living here .

Unfortunately, there are still evil, racist fucks like Stephen Miller, and greedy dimwit perverts like Trump among us , and that includes the idiots who voted for him, thinking he was their savior , despite all the obvious indicators that he had broadcast to the world , since always, that he didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, but Fox News has washed their brains clean of any kind of critical thought, so, they just mouth all the pseudo patriotic bullshit & flag waving rhetoric, and blame everyone else.

Turns out, these people LOVE fascism .

The hilarious part is , is they think they are safe from the purges & persecution , when the truth is, is it’s just not their turn,

yet.

Trump was always a bad person, just like Stephen Miller, only Stephen Miller has read some books ( besides “ Mein Kampf “ ) He , like Voldemort, had to parasitically attach himself to Trump, in order to suck up to power, since he’s even too vile for conservatives to stomach - he needed the spray-tan clown car driver , just to get him in the door.

History will not be kind to these two, it will be JUST, though, when it remembers the corrupt, despicable men that they were , & it will remember FOREVER ..

We can only hope they are out of power, soon , so history can get to work on them, when they are no longer surrounded & enabled by the sycophantic weasels that crawl out of the woodwork, when they come to sniff the ass crack of power..

“..they’ll have to stand naked / at the foot of the cross / and tell the good lord what they did…”

- “ get behind the mule “ , Tom Waits

“ when they finally put you in the ground / I’ll stand on your grave

And tramp the dirt down….”

- “ tramp the dirt down “ - Elvis Costello

Yeah, I am pissed

You should be, too - it’s our country, too & they are taking every advantage that money gives them, to step on the fingers of those below them on the ladder, calling them vermin, & I have never seen such a bald example of Freudian projection in my life.

All I can say is , is if Miller & Trump find themselves on the road to Damascus, they are on their way to a serious ass kicking, and when God asks them “ why do you persecute me ? “

they’ll DEFINITELY blame Obama.

Or Jews.

Or brown people., At which point, God will say, “ yo… my SON was a brown person ! “ & then send both of them to hell, which spawned them, in the first place.

Welcome home , bitches.

Yeah, Im pissed

There was a brief romancing of the past , where I got a chance to find people from my childhood , tell them that I never forgot them ; like the time in eighth grade, when Elyce from my homeroom class , did a report on Madame Butterfly , which went soaring over the heads of everyone,and when my dumbass class mates began to giggle at the rising, operatic warbling that was so foreign to the untrained, t.v. & radio-stained ears of my peers, Elyce turned around, unfazed, and tore us all a new ass , calling us all ignorant , immature & rude , all of which was true.

Except for me , I thought .

I was cultured , or “ cultured-adjacent “ , since I was a bonafide mama’s boy , and my mother , a huge opera buff ,had, in the past , explained to me about great opera singers, and WHY they were great - the story lines in the libretto

( see, I KNEW what a fucking LIBRETTO was ! ) , and though it really was NOT my cup of tea, I knew that opera was IMPORTANT art.

I was on Elyce’s side, at any rate , but mostly because I hated people giggling at her project ( I hate group-think bullying ) , but also because I knew that she was smart, and I REALLY liked smart girls . I thought my mom was really smart, as well as kind , so, I liked girls that I thought my mom would like.

Also, I realized much later, that I REALLY liked Elyce, with her perfect posture, her beautiful, long, dark, straight hair…straight ,like it was brushed a hundred times in one direction , or something, every night, by her mother , like she was a character in a Louisa May Alcott novel, as she wrote poetry by lamplight , out on the Rockleigh, New Jersey prairie somewhere..

I thought she was beautiful, and of course, WAY above my station. She kinda WAS, in that in 1971 , I was just a budding teenage hippie boy from Springsteen’s literal “ swamps of Jersey “,and she was, near as I could tell, a really nice girl, whose family were likely to make sure she got the education she deserved , and that MY family, however noble our intentions might’ve been, was a chaotic, war-damaged pack of good natured barbarians , and not the sort you would want to become entangled with.

Which is why, the summer after eighth grade, I was so enthralled to get a ride from your mother and you while hitchhiking to a friends house the next town over .

I jumped in the the backseat, and immediately cranked the charm up to full throttle, because I felt I owed it to you to show your mother that ; yeah, maybe I WAS baby-hippie white trash, but I was POLITE , and POSITIVE , SINCERE & SMART -Also, I wanted her to have faith in YOUR judgement, since ( and I’m just guessing ) that she stopped to pick me up , because you asked her to . I owed it to this archetypical good girl, to not be an embarrassment, at least to the degree of which I actually had ANY control over.

I really liked Elyce, a lot, it turns out ; I HAD to do right by her.

I expressed my gratitude to your mother & you as I hopped out at the end of the extremely short ride , and I dont remember what was said ; I just remember thinking - “ wow, maybe Elyce LIKES me ! “

I got out of the car, and went off into my life, and she went off into hers.

For around forty years ; then ..

Facebook, broke into the tomb of my history, & summoned the spirits of past loves, regrets, embarrassment & anger, & allowed those who sought the fantasy offering of an imagined , ineffable “closure “ for the past miscalculations , betrayals , or lost loves, that became the architecture of our memories , and I don’t THINK that was my motivation, to “ correct “ something in my past ; I wanted just a tiny allowance, to peek backwards through circuitry & wires & content providers,

Ignore all that shit , & tell someone

A woman , in this case, who , when she & I were just entering into the bloom of our teenage years , affected me, forever, apparently

She was a smart and beautiful and thoughtful girl , and my head was filled with dreams, that were directing me towards what, I still dont really know , and Facebook wont put all this flood of images from the past , present & future, into any kind of meaningful order or context - thats what I spend my days doing now, while I attempt to record all these thoughts, for some unknown audience . Possibly, just myself.

But , uh …Elyce ? Hi …I saw you back in eighth grade-

I was there , in Mr. Thatcher’s class, witnessing

The emergence of a different Butterfly

I saw you reveal your depth, fearlessly,

To a room full of thirteen year old knuckleheads , who were beyond reaching, with your Madame Butterfly , your perfect posture, your long , dark, straight hair ,

Your sly smile , under lovely , but melancholy-looking eyes

I want you to know - that shy girl, taught me to give beauty a chance

To transform us into something , that would understand how to love this brief mortal dance that , we’ve come to make all our mistakes in, before the coming ,

inevitable dark - Elyce , thank you

You are a chaste love - I am better at this life, than I might’ve been, if you hadn’t told your mother to stop, & give that guy a ride-

You may laugh , but I tell you - You, made me feel worthy

& from the vantage point of now

I believe it was the first time that I ever felt that .

Thank you, my beautiful classmate

Here in our present time

With your silver hair & your grandchildren & the womanly wisdom, granted only through pain & loss , & the austere knowing

Of a world that turns away from us every sunrise & sunset, Removing & restoring fragments of our life - every day, and the sunlight, that sits like a cat on the windowsill,

Then slips away into shadows - Elyce , I have strayed …,but I return, again & again

in hopes , the children we are no longer, will find each other & shelter

In our innocence .

I swear - I will guard that simple love forever, &

Forever is all I have left

But there is clear access to the few dwellings that some hardy souls have carved out for themselves here ,

Just above the treeline , near the summit , which in springtime during the really rainy season, is often lost to a canopy of cloud cover- The ideal zen monks retreat -

An aerie for the renunciate in contemplation

Up in the rarefied air & charged Ion fields/ tracing the dawn roads, near the summit

These narrow paths still visible from the valley floor to the unaided eye,

As they fork their way towards the exposed granite peak, remind me of the bluish veins around the areola of a milk-engorged breast, nipple modestly covered by cloud-

I see this mountain as the mother

Beneath father sky / rising over her

renewing their vows to each other , as the day follows up behind them

And we follow the sun’s transit, earth always turning away west

Scudding clouds / raking shadows across the dry fields of beargrass, The face of the earth , always looking away , and deeper into the dark behind the blue

The sentient Earth / knows no better than man /how far the dark has come,

The yellow star ; just far enough away to allow life -

A lonely perch for the blue eye of earth / and its faithful moon

& I & the faithful moon / are all I know of anything-

I came here alone / through my mother

After a long line of other strangers , who were required to come to earth

Find each other , and start assembling the genetic history / that ended in me

Now - I have had only learned about life from direct experience, and all that memory can retain , yet I have been told by

Others / who would deny my witness - who would have me NOT believe myself-

What I saw felt, heard - all the events of my life -

At times, I would fall in with those would tell me who I was , and what was mine- Then- realizing the foolishness of believing someone else’s eyewitness to one’s own life- I realized that those who may have spoken for me couldn’t , didnt , & cant -

These were the folks from down in the valley, so to speak, who only saw me from a great distance & disturbance- & all the things that happened above the cloud line

Are only mine to remember-

The outliers who chose to dwell above the tree line , were also the ones closest to the nexus of thunder & lightning / all of those people down below, only saw it / heard it after it happened- thinking they were one and the same, and couldn’t understand the language of thunder And what it told us

Of how faraway it really was, and as you all scattered for shelter, leaving the loonies up here / in their alpine isolation , in the maw of this heaven-borne retribution-

Those who dared to come up here / will surely suffer the judgment of the storm

Condemned by lightening

Cursed by the thunder

But -I know, from my tenuous purchase / on these steep slopes & ravines

The elevated places , where the snow arrives before the winter & the beargrass turns orange /brown in submission to the cold-

I was alone the whole time , watching the thunderheads collapse into rain-

I have been to where the grassy slope , gave way to glaciers

The sheer granite crown of the summit / enrobed in priestly white snow caps-

All the this time,

I was up on the fire trail, nestled against the breast of the goddess,

That nourishes the travelers / who never arrive, instead

Are following an ancient path / under the laughing stars

One day- I will walk there with you

& I will lie with you in these fields of starlight-

With the forest and the beargrass & granite spires / drawn secure around us

The staff had that hardcore punk look to them, with any number of painful-looking piercings and tribal tattoos, making their wonderfully warm and friendly, yet totally professional demeanor, seem almost contradictory, and I pondered the nature of human interactions in an overcrowded urban setting -

That maybe the aggressively thorny exteriors of the wait staff, made it possible for these people to expose the soft white underbelly of their empathy to the daunting crush of humanity that their work regularly subjects them to, and as uncomfortable as it is to buy coffee here, I find it utterly charming , and as well run as it could possibly be, given the physical restrictions of the room .The coffee is also excellent, and the staff is amazing and frankly, fun to look at.

They also seem to always have great music playing over the house system ; as any cool coffeeshop worthy of the name, must have.

On this particular day, I’m waiting to surge my way up to the counter to order my “ cuppa black ; no sugar “, when The Rolling Stone’s “ Sympathy for the Devil “ comes over the speakers. Ive heard and performed this song a zillion times over the years, but I find myself really listening to Mick Jagger’s voice, and really taking in the lyrics -

“….I stuck around St. Petersburg / when I saw it was a time for a change / I killed the Czar and his ministers / Anastasia screamed in vain / I rode a tank, held a general’s rank / when the blitzkrieg raged / and the bodies stank..Pleased to meet you / hope you guess my name …..”

Suddenly, over the confusing din of overlapping conversations, a voice emerges -

“ That’s Mick Jagger…you know ; this is the devil’s bargain , HE knows your sin…dont you, Mick …? “

The voice struck me as if a narration ; a meta-voice, voicing what everyone must be thinking, but apart from the chaotic noise of coffee orders and conversations- an oddly cogent statement of fact , an answer to a question unasked..as if the collective Id of the mass of patrons, was asking the singer to cop to something we’ve all agreed took place, and he’s inadvertently confessing to in song -

In short ; I’ve detected that a crazy person has emerged from the pack . There had to be at least one; this being New York, and any gathering of 10 or more is bound to harbor some soul, whose earthly vessel has cracked from the horrific strain of being human, and can no longer contain the interior dialogues never meant to be heard by others. Or perhaps their condition is an inherited chemical imbalance, an heirloom mental illness, that didnt get its landing gear down till the age of 16 . Or 30 . Maybe they suffered some terrible abuse, at the hands of someone , or an organization ( like the church ) that was charged with protecting their innocent , which shattered the world for them, leaving them to make their way through the remnants of the reality they once knew, now reduced to a jagged landscape full of demons and angels, never sure which is which.

I, like many others, am fascinated and fearful of insanity.

What does the face of madness look like ? What happened to this poor soul to cause them to stray into the dark , and get lost there ?

The voice I heard seemed to be coming from behind me, so I very casually turn my head in that direction, affecting as much nonchalance as I can muster

There , sitting on the extra wide window ledge , I saw him .

Maybe 30 years old, fresh faced, with dark, curly hair .

He was already staring directly at me , smiling darkly , eyes as empty as a desert road. I quickly look away from the madman, but he has his audience now , and proceeds to broadcast his presumptive Meta-voice narration; with all of its sly commentary, his wryly observed asides, in an unmoored, spiraling extrapolation on what’s essentially , a critique and overview of the moral degeneration; alternately symbolized by the singer , whose voice has become the voice of all the customers in the coffeeshop’ intentions , with the singer, Mick Jagger, also engaged in an examination of these symbols of degeneration , once-removed , or a critique of a critique of a critique …I suddenly realize , that I can actually FOLLOW the the surreal permutations of logic in his sardonic rant … I GET what he’s talking about , and the thought that I GET this guy, suddenly disturbs me enough, that I begin to intensely peruse the various coffee / pastry related products strewn along the sales counter, and the wall behind it, as if intending a larger purchase , than just a small coffee to go and a danish.

In reality, Im just trying to stop the forward inertia of tumbling thoughts, as if I were in some kind of danger, as if I was engaged in some psychic warfare, and this crazy bastard was sent to remind me, that the agents of insanity are everywhere-

And they seek to reclaim me

Jesus. The look on that guys face; the mindless smile…it held a real malevolence for me, in that I sometimes cant help but feel that I am magnet for the broken, crazy spirits that cross my path ; that they recognize me from somewhere

I say to myself, like a prayer - “ I am not one of them, no..

I am not of your legions

that wasn’t me you saw, hovering by the coffee urn in purgatory.. motherfucker..Im sorry you went nuts, I am - but was that a choice, possibly ? I dont want to judge you, its just not worth the risk to indulge those dangerous thoughts , that seem to coexist too comfortably with my wobbly reality ….. I CANNOT go there again, Im not sure I would know my way back

I feel for your mother and father - you were their baby, now, youre a near-specter in a lower east side coffeeshop, and I dont know how you wound up here, but I cant help you now-

My worst nightmares, still offered me a way out.

I could wake up.

I dont know if that path is available to you, but I must get back to work now .

I surge my way towards the exit, looking towards the sunlight, since I cant really see the door yet, but I know it’s still there , it’s where I came in.

The song is fading out as I leave, and the crazy has fallen silent.

I dont dare look at him now. I recognize that silence, and it’s no place I want to be..

( f-k YOU, Professor Wyatt , it IS a WORD )

Its etymological origins are rooted in the Fertile Crescent that is “ hip-hop culture”.

You know what ?

On a side note here, I am amazed and grateful, as should we all be, to black / Hispanic culture , who , given the rich history of bigotry and exploitation & flat-out , wholesale murder that has been the norm for over 400 years, yet continue to enrich our shared cultural heritage as Americans , & they dont owe us SHIT.

Black & Hispanic culture INVENTED & CULTIVATED JAZZ.

JAZZ could only have been birthed in the cauldron of New Orleans & Havana -

Louis Armstrong is AT LEAST as important as Mozart .

I believe Mozart would’ve f-king LOVEd Pops…

Who did kinda the same thing as Armstrong, only in reverse -Pops took a “vulgar “ & “ primitive “ ( in the eyes of Eurocentric white snobs ) , art form , & imbued it with indelible melodies & harmonic sophistication, delivered with astounding technique & passion, While Wolfie was writing commissioned music for despots & rich fuckwits to last for all eternity , but he also composed a piece whose title translates from the German , I swear , as “ Lick mine Arse “

Wolfgang wasnt above a little laudanum & lyrical licentiousness - Come on !

He was young & feeling frisky !

Hate the game, not the playa

ANYWAY - The word that I am enjoying so much lately, Is “ Badonkadonk “, A crowd-pleaser born out of Hip-hop’s deep respect for the “ Boo-Tay “-

A woman’s gluteus Maximus, the twin-cheeked siren song ‘round the back of every woman, which the male of the species is left gob-smacked stupid in the wake of any that may be passing by. The staunchest advocate of Lilly-white, European argot, will grin sheepishly, knowing that YOU now know that HE knows it, because it goes beyond mere language. It is instantly understood, from Swahili to Sanskrit-

If someone says “ Yo - that Badonkadonk was FIRE ! “

Every man from Netanyahu to Nosferatu, will nod conspiratorially , and say “ Word “,

Or the Hebrew or Romanian equivalent of “ Word “-

And all men will have an accord

The rhythm & dare I say it, poetic nuance, that hints at onomatopoeia, making it self-explanatory -

But its most unique property, is it creates in the speaker an aversion of deceitful speech-

“ I love big butts , & I cant deny “

This is much more than a declarative sentence - The speaker has made an appeal to heaven; a holy writ for heavenly hindquarters -

Badonkadonk - its mans truth ; a cry of love & admiration

And all shall bend their knee …

Next weeks word, is

“Fuckwit “ a remarkably flexible lexical marvel, in that it applies to

SO many …,

Too many, frankly…

FAR too many

Ive always craved positive attention, particularly from women, all of my life.

I hate conflict; and I’m not so certain of my views, that Im above reconsidering a stance I have taken; and that’s because I’m an agreeable, reasonable person

Anytime any attempt Ive made at pund…

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And me - and suddenly - my sleeping

( when it happens ) is alone

Now - there is me without you, when prior to that moment

When I discovered that I

Need you -

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in the recent past, nighttime was wide open

To my dreaming , fantasies of what I SHOULDVE said to this one

What I SHOULDNT HAVE said to that one, melodies

And sublime wordplay, till I faded to black-

Now , having made love to you

I know how you move, and having

Been moved ,

I seem to have lost my equilibrium

At least , I am aware of you , as being

Something now absent -

A tingle in a phantom limb -

Its a problem - another thing to lay awake about

I know that something is changed in how I see things -

I look on at my life, just wondering

Where Im going to put you, if you let me take you home

And right there , is the first complication-

I made my plans, and truth is

I am already structurally unsound , with out

You holding me , when the night

Comes to my close my eyes

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My eyes close, and you remain

the substance of my dreaming

u

It is the dark overlord of our unconscious / subdued in the interest of compassion

& empathy / having gained its release &

this former flower child / now, sees the error of his ways -

My arrogant neglect of my child-like faith ; my certainty of outcome,

Was the door I left open -

For the wilderness to reclaim its dominion ,

Because

The wilderness / had always been waiting ,

Even in the springtime of my optimism,

The wilderness- the ungovernable anger

Of ignorance & mindless resentment / which only sees its relief

In retribution-

It was out there, pawing at the ground ;

Dragging chairs across the new linoleum,

In the lobby / slamming doors,

impatient to gain access to our collective dream

Which believes in healing

And believes in love -

Well, it wanted IN / to where the dream was resting,

& rip out all its stitches, because

It was already inflamed-

& it made no secret of its intention -

Someone has to suffer / for the indignity / of having to reflect on its own sins

The albatross of our human frailty / the Wilderness sees

As our condemnation / and it will not extend a hand in friendship

To those who fall behind- Instead , we took the systems created & available to

All of us / to alter our fates

And just force-fed it / another dumb beast to do its bidding

The wilderness does not cherish you for this gesture of solidarity-

We are just more bodies to add to the meat & bone column of human misery

The beast now perches on / proclaiming its victory /as if it were yours

As if its golden toilet / wasnt flushing its waste / directly into your water supply-

If I may - I - the disgraced & pathetic flower child you see before you today ,

Declare that you are all now / the inheritors of this new exploited earth -

As passed through the bowels of our elected rulers / and doled out

As our victory meal / where we were promised a seat at the right hand of our fathers/

Instead of by the back door / eating shit and being chastised for not sending our gratitude to the chef -

If you will excuse me -

I have had my fill of the fox-news imbecile child / defiling my hopes & dreams

I will open my door / to the wanderers & the lost -

I cannot look away anymore-

The wilderness insists that I

let him & his whores / have their run of the bunker

As is how its been / all through history

But also

within easy reach -

a gallon of gas & a gun-

The dictators palate cleansers

They’ll know what to do