VII

Sometimes the simplest of unplanned things, have the most beauty.  My favorite song right now, an ear worm in my head, is a simple a capella song I discovered because of facebook.  I think the girl singing is more of an actress than a singer.  The song is supposed to be a cover, but when the first time you hear it, you hear it by the cover artist and you've never heard the original AND love the cover - guess which version becomes the song for YOU?

A girl walks onto a stage to perform, after much dragging of feet and procrastinational delaying tactics, the music starts and the solo female performs ......... the doo wop background of a scarcely known song.  The audience stares, confused.

Sometimes you may only be a background singer to the choir.

The sound of an isolated piano key 

Tap tap tapping

You can taste the ivory in your fingertips

One repeated note that has a temperature

Suddenly I realize everything is reflection.  Everything.  Everything you project is what is reflected back to you.  

Harpo Marx's famous mirror gag IS the meaning of life!

Go figure.

That wildfire I was talking about the other day?  That's how it spreads like reflection.  As if each of us has a special mirror, imbedded in us, hidden to the outward viewing eye, that picks up another's light and transmits it to yet another.

In the background, Anthony Hopkins voice speaks, a character from the movie Hearts in Atlantis, 

“And then we grow up

And our hearts break in two”

(and I suddenly I see everything so clearly - our hearts break in two at the loss of the ones who don't reflect)

You should have heard him just now

my father, 

Saying, “I opened a savings account?” In absolute disgust 

There are signs everywhere.

Reflection.

Everything.

Where your mind is, is another thing.

Graduated light reflected in a mirror.

Rich undeniably unfocused beauty

The inescapable truth of those who see cockeyed 

Oblique to the truth

The questions we ask

The doubts

Reflected

A mirror darkly

We seek 

Always looking for

That one companionable rhythm

Life 

With its beautiful potential

Blocked 

Hidden

Lost

Little bombs 

Going off in our good intentions

No wonder

We walk with a blind man's stick

Waving wildly

Are you there?

Are you there?

What if we are not here to save our parents?

What if the one sheltering home

Available upon our arrival

Was less than sheltering

Not our job to post groom the incubator

Focus

Direct

Your focus

All is reflection

Choose then

What shines off from you

So cheesy

So rich

The truest trues expose themselves 

In bright light

In the background 

Billy Joel

“And in the darkness

I see your light turn on

I need your inspiration tonight”

Piggy back 

We cling

Light drawn to light

Nature's lite brite set 

Exposed

Those who try

Never know

They cannot hide

Exposed

Left behind

Like hitting 

Yourself with a hammer

And saying 

This feels good

Instinct

Like riding 

A really good wave

You feel the rightness

Through your feet

And your legs

Your torso

Your lungs

It seeps from your pores

Surrender

No need to label

No gods to thank

Or blame

Inside

Is primal

Pre -language

Guttural

Immediate

The cum blast of this moment

And this moment

Back to back

Each

Those 

Left behind 

Would think to die

From such joy

Unfathomable

Too much

It hurts

Rhythm

All is rhythm

And reflection

Get the rhythm wrong

The next layer fails to happen

Life 

A Rube Goldberg experiment

Left on auto play

The larger universe

Encapsulating our universe

A dead and deserted world

Of automatons

Unthinkingly

Nudging

Loss ball bearings

That 

Bump into

Our intentions

Nothing personal

Sometimes life flows 

So perfectly

It is as if you have

God's hand up your ass

Blasphemy

That one isolated color

For me 

Red

For you

Blue

But still

We see what we see

Together

United in our

Common interpretation

Beautiful

Our link

Inescapable rhythm

And the tingle 

Of connection

Electric

At our best it is us 

who powers the universe

pistons pump 

drive the little ball bearing 

to the next domino drop

synchronicity

beauty 

simplicity

why things never happen

when set into place

things must fall

an airborne moment of trust

flight 

the second between 

the known 

and the known

freedom

not forced 

or begged

not fought for 

or won

nothing that can be taken from us 

by anyone 

but 

honestly . . .

does the last domino to fall

question the hand that started the motion?

or does it simply skid and slide as momentum carries it

across the table

I read the other day that the signs of the big bang are disappearing.  Cosmology is going away because there is nothing left to study.  Who is to say, then, of the sciences that never were because man’s brain was not yet large enough to perform the act, to study?  

All the answers of the universe, there at your fingertips and you, just, not prepared.  Not ready.  

The most brilliant of people, reduced to Rain Men, when their intellect is aimed in the wrong direction.  

So much beauty.

Never seen.

All of the sorrows of existence 

at the feet of those dampened 

their beautiful reflective lamps 

as if painted with mud

but you and I 

we shine

here in our special and private corner

a child’s special fort 

we have everything we want 

everything we need

my warmth 

your warmth

your love

my love

together

one

yet two

a special gift 

ours alone

beautiful

that inescapable 

contrast 

separateness

we crave

we need 

to feel

whole

Why is it so hard for some?  Why so hard to realize that beauty and art and passion can be light?  Can be joy?  Why the persistence in seeing the cold blue shaft of icy pain as truth and beauty?  

Must work be hard?

Why not effortless?

Why not what simply what extends outward naturally, with ease?

Why is what comes simply and easily, assumed to be crap?

This is shit.  This is shinola. 
Learn the difference.  

Humans the most discriminating of creatures

Hold still so I can slip on your label 

and put you on your shelf 

with the others like you 

Why is it good to have company and be in a bad neighborhood 

rather than be brilliant in a room by yourself?

Prefer to slip your label on yourself?

Rather than to remain uncategorized?

Alone

and in the background . ..   Black Eyed Peas

“pump it 

louder 

pump it 

louder”

demanding attention

look at me look at me

I will not be ignored

the cries of those who do not reflect

but only absorb

take

and 

take

you know them, they’ve sucked your breath from your mouth while the world burned around you, they push you down like you’re their handrail

brace me

support me

help me 

and you try

you are the very best handrail money can buy

stainless steel

rigid with purpose and intention

and

Bobby Darin . .

“the world delights 

in magical sights

beautiful days

when I can gaze 

in beautiful eyes 

like yours

life is full of beautiful things . . .. “

so much beauty

surrender

open up 

and expose 

the tender bits you hide

release them to the light

air out the mildew and lack of use

saving your best for the right time

as if you’re a precious, limited commodity 

you’d rather waste than misuse

bewildered by the lessons taught to you by those who could only teach 

what they had learned

limited limitlessness

Boundaries penciled in by cowards

afraid to use felt tipped pen

assuming they know

assuming there is nothing more to know

than what they know

such comfort

such ease

no fear

the very large fish in the very small bowl

nothing to challenge

better in that crowd in the very very good part of town

with no surprises and nothing to think

everything planned and simple 

a pageantry of synchronized living 

Did you know humans tend to find agreement in things they have already seen? 

“This must be good.  I’ve seen it before.”

All growth.  All expansion.  

Slips in those mis-steps between your steps 

the things slipping in 

and yet those are what we would prune

label as weeds and throw 

in the brown yard waste bin

while trying not to feel guilty 

for including a weed

into what is sure to be next years compost

An optimist and a pessimistic walk into a bar

sit at an undersized round table

a glass in the center between them 

the dead center 

the glass

that glass

a waitress walks up 

she looks at the two of them

the optimist

the pessimist

locked

she picks up the glass 

jerks her hand 

tossing the water 

to fall 

a shower of individual drops

spray

without meaning 

without form

free

before she walks away she says,

“I give up.”

Moments in My Head #10

Whitney Houston died.  Across Facebook and probably Twitter, some fans were mourning by posting digital tributes.  There are a lot of things in this world that I don't understand.  I don't understand how the Mayans could predict the end of the world, when they couldn't predict their own demise?   I don't understand how anyone can judge anyone's else life and choices until they he/she has done a stroll in their shoes DURING THE SAME TIME PERIOD.  Let's face it we are victims, in part, of the time period and its circumstances under which we live.  It isn't just who you are, but where you are and when you are.  Think of Ira Levin's "Boys From Brazil."  Each one of those little Hitler wannabes needed to have as many of the events and their timing as happened in Hitler's life as possible to be have any likelihood of recreating him.  Assuming that could even be possible, given the varieties of uniqueness that go into creating a human being.  

But I digress, the point was I don't understand a lot of things and you can tell that I think about them almost obsessively.  I've frequently compared my brain to a big rock tumbler, that simply tumbles and tumbles on the sharp projectiles my mind can't get past.  One of those things I've been tumbling has been why, within only hours of people posting digital tributes to Whitney Houston, there were people bad mouthing the people posting tributes to Whitney Houston.   Mostly it was reminders of other people's death who the complainer thought were somehow more important or noteworthy than a celebrity's or especially a celebrity who died because of drug abuse.  Sometimes it was one person, like one soldier, sometimes it was the whole Army or Navy.  

Really, explain the logic of that to me.  

Does the fact the person idolized Whitney Houston, who I must explain right now, of whom I WAS NOT a particular fan.  Yes, that's right, NOT, but just because the person loved Whitney Houston, how does their extra respect for someone they love in any way assume they have no respect for your mentioned dead?  What are you saying?  Each human only contains just enough empathy to grieve for or respect the death of a finite number of people?  Too much tribute to a celebrity wipes out respect for a thousand regular people?  Ten thousand?  

I say, "You want respect for your dead, give me respect for my dead."

Don't.  Don't say "they can't claim Whitney Houston for their dead."  

Yes, yes they can.  What you love is yours.  That little portion belongs to you and you grieve when it is lost.  

What is this society as parent mentality we have going on here?  Who are you to tell them who or what to love?   Isn't that what your parents would do?  Weren't you going to be different when you grew up?

I was thinking about vampires today.  I suppose given all the Twilight hoopla, it is sometimes unavoidable.  I see a "RUFKM?  He sparkles?" and my mind automatically clinks and clanks until I notice a good looking chunk of thought about the differences from the vampires of my childhood and my mother's childhood.  Maybe I had a lot of psychology classes in college (I did) or maybe it isn't that heavy of a lift on the psychological weight scale (probably not.)  It seems to me originally vampires were psychologically attractive to women because it was about "penetration" and since vampires could glamour their victims, it was sex without responsibility on the woman's part.  I didn't "want" to do it, he "made" me do it.  In a slower world with an uncertain boundary as to where a girl should turn off "good girl" or take responsibility for her own sexual desire or desperately bump and grind to keep her man, it was a fanciful way to have the lover of your dreams who did "whatever" you could dream up, but yet still claim "I would never have done that if he hadn't "made" me.  **insert finger in dimple** 

So your mother's vampire was a sort of "porn."  Team Jacob and Team Edward must mean the modern one is too.  But maybe that's the reason Edward sparkles, he isn't your mother's vampire.   Today's woman doesn't need to pretend to be a "good girl," we are much more sophisticated at realizing that woman also appreciate and are tempted by sex.  The interesting thing is, well, Edward and Dracula, lemme see, both have pointy fangs with which to bite you.  They both can glamour you, hmm maybe the lack of responsibility draw still applies.  I think they're both cold, Dracula does not appear in a mirror, I'm pretty sure Edward does.  He needs to, how else could he appreciate his sparkle?  Edward is hard, is he not?  Hard like he's made of granite?  I don't remember ever hearing that about Dracula.  

But there's one more difference, isn't there?  

Think a minute.  How about attitude?  Do Dracula and Edward have the same attitude?  Hell no.  Dracula wouldn't hesitate.  He's GOING to bite you.  Edward not only WOULDN'T bite you.  He'd drive you home and make you dinner.  

It is it me or does it suddenly seem like the emasculation of men by modern vampire?  

Hmm.  Are the females who love the Twilight series really fantasizing about something more on the road to being a dominatrix?  A little about the control and power of leashing a beast?  Makes me feel so so comfortable with my peers.  We were much more about stripping it off and joining the beast.  Don't tame him, jump on, hold on, and, apparently, plead ignorance later.  Honestly, other than whine that she wanted him to make her a vampire and that she eventually has his baby, I have no idea what Bella did with Edward.  Enough to get her pregnant, I guess.

Pregnant?  Your mother's vampire had something BETTER than a vasectomy.  Why would anybody want to have a baby with a vampire?

I just don't understand.  

Besides, if I had been on a team, it would have been Team Jacob.  You've got a boyfriend AND a pet.  There's no bad there.  Not to mention a provider of warmth and protection.  Edward Shmedward, I say.

Twilight has the same phenomenon going on as Whitney Houston.  We (and I'm part of this group) can't just let you have your different vampire, we have to mock your tastes and joke with memes about "still a better romance than Twilight."  

This internet just isn't big enough for your vampire AND my vampire.  

Truthfully, I can see an argument where men might instinctively hate Twilight since the goal seems to be, in the most PC of descriptions, to define what a man's manhood should be.  What's with the rest of us?  Why can't we just think they are idiots in private?  Why do we bond with other people who agree in a seemingly more active basis than the actual Twilight fans did in the first place?  Could it be seeing ourselves represented in what we assume is the majority, it feeds to our denial that the disagreement has anything to do with age.  

Maybe it was simply we were tired of hearing about Twilight.  Or maybe, like me, we read a book or two of Twilight and felt we had paid for a very different experience than the one we got.  When was the last time you got your money back from buying a book simply because you didn't like it.  

Yes yes, I'm being ridiculous.  Who would do that?  

Except books are essentially ideas.  

That book had bad ideas.  That book made me uncomfortable with its ideas.  

Little bit more than the $10 to $20 you thought I was complaining about, huh?  

An idea can change your perception of your world, of yourself, of your parents, your partner, your pets.  An idea can penetrate your subconsciousness and make you think.  So an idea can become a thought which can change you.  

Nobody embraces change.  It's scary and messy and unfamiliar.  Change is so uncomfortable to us that we often choose to stay with an already uncomfortable status quo rather than risk more discomfort for improvement.  

I don't understand that either.  

You could fill a bus station with all the things I don't understand.  

It's all the ideas.

My brain is riddled with them.   

I must not have been selective enough about what I chose to read.