Springtime... maybe.

Hi there.

Well, these are trying times... and so I am trying.

I am reminded of certain passages from Gibbons’ work The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. But I try not to reminisce too much. Mostly.

Not so easy since I decided to take my Moody Monday cartoon strip off-site. One of those ideas that seemed to be time.

But you know how it goes… the only thing that does not change is the need for change… or to re-arrange the furniture. Looking at that this year. Maybe get a new couch? Not sure. Maybe get a new Prime Minister? I would like that…

Sure sign of spring is taking the bikes in to get them tuned up and ready to roll. Jen fired them up in the garage to make sure that they at least started. Talk about a Happy Girl… she was grinnin’ wild… and had that far away look in her eyes.

Somewhere on a desert highway
She rides a Harley-Davidson
Her long blonde hair
flyin' in the wind
She's been runnin' half her life
The chrome and steel she rides
Collidin' with
the very air she breathes...

Then we had the surprise snow… but the bikes are still going in to get ready. It’s been a long winter… and it is time for a change.

Open your arms, opens your arms,
Open your arms, baby, let my love come running in.
It's been a long time, been a long time,
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time.

All of my love
Sky

St Joan...

Joan of Arc was burnt alive. Absolutely toasted…

Did she hear the voice of God?
Was she a gross sinner?
A heretic?
Could she do math?
Was she a witch?

No… she was burnt alive for being a cross-dresser and a general pain in the ass to the "State"… not her own "State" either... some one else's. Joan was French but it was the English who toasted her.

So yeah… what does it that mean? Things are not all that different today... the "State" is getting irrationally in the way...

Where are we going?
How are we going to get there?

Fact is though that we are not all going to arrive… which leads to the question – does it matter to you if we do not all arrive?

It is really just this simple

2009 is closing and some antique ideas persist...

I am so tired of the whole “Feminist” debate over who is or can be a feminist… so here it is set out simply…

True or False?

Women are equal human beings to men and entitled to equal opportunity, equal respect, and equal remuneration.

If you say True you are a feminist…
Men can be feminists…
your gender does not matter.

If you say False then you are a misogynist…
and again your gender does not matter…
women can be misogynists.

The rest of the blather is just cheap excuses.

Resolutions

I don’t like “resolutions”… it is impossible for me to trust in that sort of change… to wake up and suddenly be different… I can’t trust that… deeds count; words don’t… the act makes the fact.

“Resolutions” are a fairy tale’s promise… to be suddenly richer… to be suddenly wiser… to be suddenly beautiful… all at a word… it’s a magic spell without the discipline of learning how to do it.

It does not take a “resolution” to quit smoking or cheating or whatever you are after… look, if the fairy tale witch made a resolution to quit poisoning apples would you take the fruit? Could you believe that much over words?

You want to change and be a better person… that’s fine… a worthy goal... I got no problem with that... just don’t announce it before you do it... there are enough broke promises already.

Geists

You just can not talk ghosts with some people… cause they want to talk about ghouls and the like. I have never seen a ghoul, though I have seen plenty of ghosts. Last night a friend was telling me of a cat poltergeist, which I frankly have never heard of before. Haunting… not quite as strange as some may wish it to be. The dude with the cat geist though did not like my suggestion that haunting works both ways. Some remain due to unfinished business, other remain because we simply will not let them go.

I am waiting... I am waiting.. oh yeah... oh yeah

Sitting back in my chair I had the chance to enjoy the quiet and look out my window at the trees. Sure, there is a city back there somewhere, but all I can see out the window is the trees, the birds, and the calm tranquility of the forest which surrounds the house and lawns. There is a world out there but today I am not a part of it.

It might be selfish really to withdraw and be apart from things, but then the truth is that a lot of things are wearing me out. I get to feeling faded like an old photograph left outside too long.

October is looming up quickly and with it the new medical tests. I was talking with my life partner about this, about how tired I am of the whole thing, and how I would so dearly love just to not do this anymore. I know, how difficult it must be for her to hear that, and yet there she is supporting me through this still. My Jenny is my mountain.

I am going to miss some writing deadlines at Pan Historia. These were self imposed and though I normally would move heaven and earth not to miss my own deadlines, I shall this time. The works will not be the way that I want them to be in time, and I do not think that I will sacrifice my time with Jenny to complete them. Some call it priorities, I call it sanity.

The University is now in full swing, and I have filled my allotment of students. The task ahead is rather pleasing to me, though I find myself missing being the student. It is far different being the tutor. I am not sure that I like it as much. What I am hopeful of is that the pleasure of success from the students will transfer to me as well. Education is a team sport. I wonder if this is how an athlete feels when they must give up playing and become the coach? Are they trying to get back the high that they once knew?

Yes, I am really unreal.

Every thing begins with a stray comment and I often believe that if there is a God the Universe began as a mere slip of the lip. In the beginning there was the Word… and then after that nothing but attempts to take it back…

The matter at hand is the question of what is the “REAL PERSON” rather than what is the mask we wear. Oddly in my life, it is the men who ask these questions. Who are you? Why do you dress that way? Is that your “real” name? Etc.

First off, yes, it is my legal name. Good enough for the banks and for my driver’s license. And yes… I have been known by many names.

I watch people… it is my hobby, my passion and my fixation. People are very strange and do the most intriguing things. They never act as you might expect, and seldom seem to know why they are the way that they are. To date though I have never met a “real” person, nor for that matter an “unreal” person. I have simply met people.

There are customs and practices that I don’t agree with and would never adopt for my own. I don’t particularly like talking about the past. True, when I meet old friends after a spell of absence we do quickly catch up… though the key there is quickly. If we face the facts what happened while apart is not riveting tales usually… unless they were arrested… but that is not often the case any more. As people age they are less likely to be arrested and even less likely to be incarcerated. The point is that we live now, and ought to not pine for that which we can never return to. Memories are fine until they become all there is.

What I wear and how I behave are of course contrived when you look at it in the clear light of motivation. My appearance is a selection of choice. What I choose to wear reflects a conscious wearing of a mask. Even should I choose to go nude… that too is a conscious selection of mask. It all creates an atmosphere, mood or condition in which I am the center of the storm that surrounds me. Fact is simple, so are you the center of the storm that surrounds you. Neither can escape this... that is what is real. We wear masks all the time. There is no reality since it is all in our heads.

Oh, but I hear you ask “But what if you are asleep?” To this I say that there is nothing real about sleep. The body is there, no different than a corpse in some regards, but the “I” is absent. I am not there. How then can that be real?

I am expressed to you in symbols… in a secret code that is meant to be intriguing… interesting and awaken in you a desire to be included into my life… into my storm. It’s electrifying n’est pas?

Alternatively, not. There are those who can never get used to my sense of drama. It is then that the worst me emerges… the literal analytical me… emotionless and anchored to the facts that we share in common. We then talk of nothing but the passed past and have no “real” connection in the present. This abolishes any thought of the future.

wet dreams

she’s the pickle of love… the affectionate wave…. yet she fits like a glove… when the road is fresh paved… when she’s off in a car… she wears a hat for the shade… she is just like a smile… at the side of the grave… with malicious intention… she pulls you down to the fire… when you’re starting to shiver… she fills your heart with desire… but you know that she’s gone… though it feels just the same… you never get to meet her… she left before you came… and you have to hold on… hold on tight for the ride… yes you have to hold on… or you will dry up inside… hold on to your dreams… they are all that you get… hold on to your dreams… or you just might forget… just who you are… or you may fade away… and when there is no one left… there is nothing to say.

my dinosaurs

The monitor screens glow…the clicks of micro circuits barely perceptible… the hard drives switch over… a fan starts… the CD players is on… just before the music begins there is a static crackle… then the sound… I am silent at that moment, fingers hovering over the keys… anticipation…

Books are scaly dinosaurs climbing the wall with evolutionary intent escaping their revolutionary ways… messenger RNA knocks at the door where in another time the pizza delivery person will stand… their rictus grins in statuary dignity… you were here they tell me… your eyes glancing across their hidden secrets… your fingers tantalizingly brushes their spines… you were here in blindness… a mute amongst my demoniac cabal…

The Muse On Line is plugged in…

the past is present…

the future an immutable possibility on the edge of eternity…
if I open the window shall I soar into the thermals…
there to scrape against the frozen face of the sky…
across the icy altitudes...
to gaze down in forgetfulness…

Ragnarök

You know the debate is not really about Health Care, Gay Marriage, Equality, Foreign Policy or any of the other myriad of handy dandy catch phrase issues that the every day citizen is grappling with. There is no debate or discussion going on and there has not been for a long long time. All civility displayed is a false veneer waiting for the snapping point to arrive. This is the Hate nurtured at the breast of the Left/Right divide of the Politics of Fear.

The Ecstasy of War has come home to roost. The War on Terror, The War on Drugs, The War on Drunk Drivers, The War on What-Ever-You-Like amid the threats of reasonable cause for fear. The poison pours out of the media and pollutes the minds… Good versus Evil! This is Religion. This is a wholly made in America Jihad.

“Give Me Victory or Give Me Death (preferably yours)”

This is the Cancer of creeping mendacity permitted to go unchecked, the secretion of secrecy; this is the Serpent amid the Flock while the calls of Wolf ring out in panic. When the importance of truth was surrendered I shall leave to historians, but suffice it to say that truth has long since been abandoned for Position, Wealth and Power.

This is, from abroad, the American Way. Truth and Justice abandoned for Victory regardless of the cost. In this the cost shall be the whole of it. All. Everything.

I can think of no better symbolism than that of an American Ragnarök.

***

Ragnarök

by Micha F. Lindemans

Ragnarok ("Doom of the Gods"), also called Gotterdammerung, means the end of the cosmos in Norse mythology. It will be preceded by Fimbulvetr, the winter of winters. Three such winters will follow each other with no summers in between. Conflicts and feuds will break out, even between families, and all morality will disappear. This is the beginning of the end.

The wolf Skoll will finally devour the sun, and his brother Hati will eat the moon, plunging the earth [into] darkness. The stars will vanish from the sky. The cock Fjalar will crow to the giants and the golden cock Gullinkambi will crow to the gods. A third cock will raise the dead.

The earth will shudder with earthquakes, and every bond and fetter will burst, freeing the terrible wolf Fenrir. The sea will rear up because Jormungand, the Midgard Serpent, is twisting and writhing in fury as he makes his way toward the land. With every breath, Jormungand will stain the soil and the sky with his poison. The waves caused by the serpent's emerging will set free the ship Naglfar, and with the giant Hymir as their commander, the giants will sail towards the battlefield. From the realm of the dead a second ship will set sail, and this ship carries the inhabitants of hell, with Loki as their helmsman. The fire giants, led by the giant Surt, will leave Muspell in the south to join against the gods. Surt, carrying a sword that blazes like the sun itself, will scorch the earth.

Meanwhile, Heimdall will sound his horn, calling the sons of Odin and the heroes to the battlefield. From all the corners of the world, gods, giants, dwarves, demons and elves will ride towards the huge plain of Vigrid ("battle shaker") where the last battle will be fought. Odin will engage Fenrir in battle, and Thor will attack Jormungand. Thor will be victorious, but the serpent's poison will gradually kill the god of thunder. Surt will seek out the swordless Freyr, who will quickly succumb to the giant. The one-handed Tyr will fight the monstrous hound Garm and they will kill each other. Loki and Heimdall, age-old enemies, will meet for a final time, and neither will survive their encounter. The fight between Odin and Fenrir will rage for a long time, but finally Fenrir will seize Odin and swallow him. Odin's son Vidar will at once leap towards the wolf and kill him with his bare hands, ripping the wolf's jaws apart.

Then Surt will fling fire in every direction. The nine worlds will burn, and friends and foes alike will perish. The earth will sink into the sea.

After the destruction, a new and idyllic world will arise from the sea and will be filled with abundant supplies. Some of the gods will survive, others will be reborn. Wickedness and misery will no longer exist and gods and men will live happily together. The descendants of Lif and Lifthrasir will inhabit this earth.

***

As a poet the symbolism of Sarah Palin (pit bull with lipstick) and the Wolves is inescapable. Where more likely than from the frozen wastes of Alaska? Micha F. Lindemans description of Ragnarök is easily super-imposed upon the current state of American Political and Social affairs.

why I am not writing

An apprehensive looms across the horizon and I go walking through the roses… late August blooms and the blushing of the hips… the cool dew beneath my feet hints at frosts to come… the morning is poetry if you look at it right… the quiet solitude, hot mug of tea and time for reflection…

I often wonder if I make the right the decisions…

We have had a friend staying with us and many conversations seem to turn to past lives… who we were before we are who we are… the memories that we have and more the shards of memories that are not complete… like little pieces of glass just waiting to be stepped on… Laura listens quietly… taking it in and asking penetrating questions… leaping along the threads to grasp the entire picture.

My creative writing has all dried up again… and though I have ideas, then the lethargy of ennui takes hold. I realize that I want something different but I can not define it enough to ask for it.

Back...

Shopping went flawlessly and a few days at a summer resort aided the soul.

Been attacking a longer poem while I was on the road and remarkably I was able to read most of my own printing. Not too shabby that though the word processor is telling me that the poem is seven pages long… maybe just a little too wordy to post at one.

Getting really pissed off at the “debate” (more like children fighting) coming from south of the border over health care. Weird that… I don’t understand why they are behaving that way at all…

Glad to be back and reading up on all that I missed while away. It was not easy at first to leave all the electronics behind, but it was a good idea to be totally absent for a while to refresh and recharge the soul.

And now dear friends, once more into the breach…

A Mother's Passing

I spend a good portion of my free writing time online at PanHistoria.com which is a form of Community based upon writing play as it were. The opportunities for both creative writing and social writing are amazing. Once in a while events occur in people’s lives which touch us all, for that is the nature of empathy and friendship.

This morning, a friend’s mother passed on. Though I grieve with her for the loss, I rejoice in the strength and compassion that she shared with me of the love between people.

*****

Because you have shared with us, and with me, I would like to express what that means to me. Though I never met your mother, I too have been touched by the power of the love that you two shared. It is a bond that even in passing can not be broken. I can not understate what a beautiful thing it was that you did for your mother, and in that to know what a beautiful person your mother must have been to have been so well reflected in you. Mere words are all I have… and I give them to you freely in thanks for your sharing of that beauty.

She nurtured in the soft failing light
with dignity and gentle grace
And there in heart she brought forth love
which shone as bright as to displace
the shadows of the coming night.

A touch of sorrow and muted loss,
how empty seems the heart at last
Yet love does yet draw forth the light
for in my heart I hear her laugh
beyond the shadows of the night.

From you who learned the art of love
compassion forged with dignity
Whose strength of love speaks testament
have shared your mother’s love with me
to push against the edge of night.

Going on the road...

Simcoe Day long weekend was a gas... picnics and beaches were great... and that leads to the big surprise announcement… I shall be going shopping. Big news as we shall be taking to the road for a week or so and heading into the heartland of Quebec. As a French speaking Canadian it is like going home, though I was raised outside of Quebec. This leads me to be able to speak fluently, though I can not read nor write in French properly. It is amusing to be illiterate in my mother tongue.

So naturally I will be off line during this since I have promised to be social and go to clubs at night. Jen has already made an appointment for me at a dressmaker so there is great promise in that. Montreal for shoes, Quebec City for a dress… I am very excited about this. More so, I know that Jen is. Maybe this time we shall go through Ottawa. That shall be up to the driver. I am the passenger.

Spent the day loading in the chips of music for the trip. Looks like a lot of Bob Dylan, Neil Young and Joni Mitchell this time.

Night comes on

As night comes on the heat of the day shimmers and dances above the lawn… the sun sets rouge upon the roses, the lilies waver… homeward bound from their day the birds settle to their nests and the bees to their hives… at night the cool winds brush through the trees, sweep across my balcony and caresses me… whispers in my ear… and from far away the soft trilling of a child’s laughter drifts and settles over me from the stars.

Just wanted to share a moment of peace... the time to see, to feel, to breathe... the start of a dream.

canvas

Dear you;

Hi. How are you doing? Just thought that I would take a moment out and say hello…

This? Oh, that’s just a bandage… it ain’t nothing… I’m good… no it doesn’t hurt, just looks bad though… can’t have the roses without the thorns and I am not sure that I don’t love the thorns just as much as the blooms. Not that I got it from the roses as such… I was picking the raspberries... tripped and fell. There will be fresh berry muffins later.

We all know truly talented and gifted people… those who have the knack for whatever the task is… and at times maybe we get envious of what seems so easy for them. Or, conversely we might get frustrated when that which we find easy they find so difficult. The true conclusion is that a good life is a team sport.

The painter paints with colours, with shades, shadows and light.
The poet paints with words, and the then spaces between them.
The musician paints with sounds, volume and tempo…

The canvas is the same… we all play on the emotional responses.

Hiding

When I last felt her she was a drifting wave of charm
Spinning and dancing on the unfathomable head of a pin
Quivering with raw anticipation and desire
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

What song she sang was a ribbon of mysteries
Velvet caresses of the river’s flowing
Silky celestial reflections gilding the silent waters
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

What smile she gave was a rainbow below the full moon
Shadow cast hard during the solar eclipse
Shades of brushing souls dancing around a kiss
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

What laughter she spread was the sounds of the forests
The deer in flight to the cool lake edge rushes
The sparrows riding the tops of trees towards infinity
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

What tears she cried were the nectars of fragrant flowers
The slivers of dew in streams upon the leaves
Rising mists beneath the sun scraped bleeding skies
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

What breath she breathed was the essence of the roses
The winds lashing the mown fields
White blossoms on the breeze
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

What stare she gave was the eyes of cruel winter
The lightening edge of a thunderstorm
The eye of the hurricane crashing to shore
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

What heart beat hammered with raging anger
Thundered futility towards the deafness of the void
Bombarding repercussions in magnificent amplitude
Dreaming this world and hiding from the same

When I last felt her she was a lover rising in the morning
The drape of sheet warding chill
The coolness of the hand after the parting
Leaving me dreaming this world

distracted

Sure… I could be writing but I was distracted by several important people… first Renee, and her totally amazing demonstration of power… I pray with all I have for her, her family and those she has in her affections. Made me think of what amazing people I have around me too, and how I had better get off my ass and let them know what they mean to me...

Fact: Poetry writing is really a lot of sweat and gallons of iced tea.

So, Sarah McLachlan, Bif Naked… and a tape of tribal drummers play extra loud and I am trying to feel something… sounds strange to write this you know? I should have been writing poetry but instead was jumping around and shouting songs… I wonder if it makes any sense at all or if I am heading for the nut farm.

I did not order that...

She was cute, efficient, terribly nice and worked for the Fascist State…

I ordered no coleslaw, I expected no coleslaw… she brought me coleslaw.

It is well known that Coleslaw is the International Symbol of the Fascists… where would Hitler have been without the creamy cabbage side dish? George Bush loved coleslaw and I have heard it said that the real reason Dick Cheney shot his friend was a failure to procure.

Coleslaw is a hard drug. It is addictive. It is petulant and by the gods coleslaw plays a dangerous game!

Fact is that innocent people do not accidentally order coleslaw… it just NEVER happens. You never hear even the most senile pepper pot say “Oh dear, I did not mean to order coleslaw.” Never. You will hear “I CAN’T eat THAT!” often enough.

After my protestations the coleslaw is banished from the table amid nervous laughter and side long glances. A voice rises from the din… “That’s Sky. She’s a poet.”

The befuddled male looks across the table and says. “A poet? What do you do?”

“I write poems” I said, confident that the occupation of a poet is in fact poetry.

“No, I mean, what is your REAL job?”

He was cute, perky, with a devilish grin and dimpled chin…

and he was also as dumb as a board.

a midnight rambler

This is a midnight rambler… I am tired but awake and my mind is a chattering monkey… ideas… concepts… I got something that I want to say… I look around me and I see things that just bother me… I get irritated by the stupidity and selfishness that surrounds me… I get angry at the injustice… it could just stop. People could just stop and leave others alone. We don’t have to be all the same… we only have to get along.

I pray with light… boxes of little candles like birthday cake candles… arranged in row by the widow… each one lit one at a time… and I wish for others to find strength… to find comfort… to find peace. Not things or outcomes as much as a personal moment of clarity and truth. I pray with poetry… if it seems a bit pretentious, perhaps… but it is a doing… an act… something tangible to do.

Tonight I am thinking of people I do not know.
Tonight I am thinking of friends departed.
Tonight I am thinking of friends.

Tonight I am listening to Leonard Cohen…
with respect and admiration…
with a sadness on my heart… and still a calm joy that there is beauty, peace, calm…

I went down to the place
Where I knew she lay waiting
Under the marble and the snow
I said, Mother I'm frightened
The thunder and the lightning
I'll never come through this alone
She said, I'll be with you
My shawl wrapped around you
My hand on your head when you go
And the night came on
It was very calm
I wanted the night to go on and on
But she said, Go back to the World

The Night Comes

I want to laugh.
I want to cry.
I want to feel.