Temporal

When I was leaving

you were still

a seed, yet to be.

When May I was budding

you were just nascent,

in springs early morning sun.

Now I am in fall

late afternoon; the suns long rays

dapple me with shadow.

And here you are in full,

sunny, early June, bloom;

your petals pursed

expectantly like lips

waiting for the bees kiss.

While I have gone

to seed, left to fallow;

wild and unweeded.

Temporal,

we could never be any more.

We share the same earth,

but not the same equinox.

Tu Baku Dinky Dow

The media reports that the Chinese are angry over remarks made by Sharon Stone. Supposedly, Ms. Stone has stated that the recent horrible earthquake in China might be the result of bad “karma” on their part. In retaliation, the Chinese have banned her movies from being played there.

What I want to know is how the hell did the “Chinese” hear about this? I hadn’t heard about it until it was reported in the news, the way I presented it. Did you? Are the Chinese spying on Sharon Stone? Do they have some operative somewhere whose job it is to monitor Ms. Stone’s every action and utterance? Or did Ms. Stone email the Chinese and leave all 1 billion of them a message?

And are all the “Chinese” pissed? Do they even know who she is in, say, Outer Mongolia? I don’t even know if they have television. And why should the Chinese give a shit what some washed up Hollywood has-been thinks about the earthquake? Don’t they have better things to do, like prepare for the Olympics?

It reminds me of the old adage which I find myself saying a lot these days, “opinions are like assholes, everyone has one and most of them stink”. Even Sharon Stones. Didnt we see it in some movie already? Get over it, China.

No Where Man

The other day when I was going to the store I noticed an old woman crossing the street. She was probably 80+ and clearly having a difficult time of getting to wherever she was going. Just then, I saw a car pull up to the stop sign, indicating its intention to turn, however, the old woman was still in the road. I glanced at the driver, a young kid, slumped down in his seat, his baseball cap jauntily tipped to the side. He was driving one of those cars that hot-rodders today like, the Hondas with the oversized muffler, low profile tires and the large rear taillights. Loud music boomed from his car. I could feel his impatience from across the road. He kept looking at the woman, eyes darting back and forth with a quiet, but noticeable, rev of the engine. The old woman finally made it about half way across the street, far enough for this young “dude” to accelerate and get by. As he receded, I saw him throw his hands in the air out of frustration and a what the f*ck attitude. He chirped his tires and sped the 100 yards to the next stop at high speed. The old woman did not seem to notice, as she focused on her goal. I thought to myself regarding the driver, “what a d*ck!” Now, it is remotely possible that he was on his way to the hospital where a loved one waited in some life threatening state, but more likely he was just in a hurry to get wherever he was going. He is cool. He is important. Get out of his way. When in truth he is just another young punk, stupid and disposable, programmed by the media to buy what they are selling; but he probably thinks he is his own person, unique and non-conforming. But in reality, he is just another self centered egotist bent on taking from others for his own benefit, “F the world!” Where could he have possibly going that was so important that he could not wait the less than 30 seconds that it took to ensure that the old woman made it across the street? To shop? To hang with his homies? To work, because he was running late because he was playing with his Wii? I don’t want to live in a world in which a no one is in such a hurry to get nowhere that he thinks nothing of everybody. Ass!

The Stain

In the dirt, Jesus
revealed himself
to me, on the side
of the refuse
can. You know,
no church for me,
nor sacred wood.
nor shrine. My redemption
is but a stain.

Up Yours, Warren!

It is always a time of turmoil and confusion. The winds of change are constant and yes, sometimes violent and usually unpredictable. Cherished beliefs and hallowed institutions should often be called into question. Leaders who don’t know how to lead are weak and ineffective. This causes great anxiety and one reason Xanax is one of the most widely prescribed medications today. Many lack the intellect to analyze the complex issues with certainty and the wisest do hedge their bets against the future.

In those days people gathered into many different groups to confront the shock of change. Some gathered around those who perennially do not care, some around those who pursue stupidity, yet others gathered around the practical doers of deeds and still others sought refuge with the purveyors of bullshit.

When complex problems arose and solutions could not easily be found, which is often, the purveyors of bullshit would say childish things like “there are two paths to the future, one sought by the predictors of the inevitable and another by the pursuers of the possible”. To anyone who proposed to take action, they would say “we can distill the world into simple inane fallacies with which we can seem to make valid logical conclusions, but which are actually nothing more than empty rhetoric”. To anyone who tried to unite people in a direction other which they wanted to go, they would imply “you are a predictor of the inevitable and therefore, I am right and you are wrong. Do not question me”.

Now it came to pass that whenever the purveyors of bullshit were believed and followed, people became alienated and angry, organization became confusion, important considerations became meaningless, risks ignored, outcomes unquestioned and yes, the voices of innovation and hope became silent, because no one would listen for fear of being labeled in such a silly and reckless manner. And while the others were left to mop up a big soppy mess, the purveyors of bullshit were out sailing on their boats.

Now at that same time and that same place, there were the practical doers of deeds. When problems persisted and changes brought confusion, they were often dismayed because they knew that much of this was caused by the purveyors of bullshit and those that listened to their meaningless arguments and misleading words. Despite this, the struggled on in their sense of duty and responsibility, because they knew that the purveyors of bullshit were really weak and powerless and that one day they would sail off into the sunset.

Thus, they always had hope. To the purveyors of bullshit they would say, “shut the fuck up” and point out to the others how they were really full of shit. To those who questioned pre-assumed suppositions, they listened. To those who did not attempt to pigeon hole people as being in one camp or another, they said hey, lets work together, it will be fun.




And so it came to pass, that reason returned. People were encouraged to think. They were no longer bullied by the people who had to put them down to make themselves more important, because they saw them for what they were: purveyors of bullshit. And then people felt supported and uplifted by their leaders. New leaders emerged. They felt like they were making a difference and that their efforts mattered. Until, in wonder, they could say, “look the power is in our hands”.

Now in truth, it must be said, that this is a bunch of horse pucky too. There are times when everyone’s vision is clouded and their judgments wrong. No matter how hard you try, things may not work out as you plan them. It is beguiling to listen to the purveyors of bullshit because life is simple when we ignore truth. But in their most thoughtful moments most people came to appreciate many great truths in those turbulent times, because there is no simple “one truth”, regardless of what Warren H. Schmidt would have you believe ( notice what his last name rhymes with ).

For it is much less heroic to buy into the bullshit, and thereby become some mindless automaton, than it is to think for yourself and speak up, even if you are wrong.

The 4 Noble Truths

Life means suffering.
To live means to suffer, because the human nature is not perfect and neither is the world we live in. During our lifetime, we inevitably have to endure physical suffering such as pain, sickness, injury, tiredness, old age, and eventually death; and we have to endure psychological suffering like sadness, fear, frustration, disappointment, and depression. Although there are different degrees of suffering and there are also positive experiences in life that we perceive as the opposite of suffering, such as ease, comfort and happiness, life in its totality is imperfect and incomplete, because our world is subject to impermanence. This means we are never able to keep permanently what we strive for, and just as happy moments pass by, we ourselves and our loved ones will pass away one day, too.
2. The origin of suffering is attachment.
The origin of suffering is attachment to transient things and the ignorance thereof. Transient things do not only include the physical objects that surround us, but also ideas, and -in a greater sense- all objects of our perception. Ignorance is the lack of understanding of how our mind is attached to impermanent things. The reasons for suffering are desire, passion, ardour, pursuit of wealth and prestige, striving for fame and popularity, or in short: craving and clinging. Because the objects of our attachment are transient, their loss is inevitable, thus suffering will necessarily follow. Objects of attachment also include the idea of a "self" which is a delusion, because there is no abiding self. What we call "self" is just an imagined entity, and we are merely a part of the ceaseless becoming of the universe.
3. The cessation of suffering is attainable.
The cessation of suffering can be attained through nirodha. Nirodha means the unmaking of sensual craving and conceptual attachment. The third noble truth expresses the idea that suffering can be ended by attaining dispassion. Nirodha extinguishes all forms of clinging and attachment. This means that suffering can be overcome through human activity, simply by removing the cause of suffering. Attaining and perfecting dispassion is a process of many levels that ultimately results in the state of Nirvana. Nirvana means freedom from all worries, troubles, complexes, fabrications and ideas. Nirvana is not comprehensible for those who have not attained it.
4. The path to the cessation of suffering.
There is a path to the end of suffering - a gradual path of self-improvement, which is described more detailed in the Eightfold Path. It is the middle way between the two extremes of excessive self-indulgence (hedonism) and excessive self-mortification (asceticism); and it leads to the end of the cycle of rebirth. The latter quality discerns it from other paths which are merely "wandering on the wheel of becoming", because these do not have a final object. The path to the end of suffering can extend over many lifetimes, throughout which every individual rebirth is subject to karmic conditioning. Craving, ignorance, delusions, and its effects will disappear gradually, as progress is made on the path.

This Side of Gone

I live at my own latitude,
an arctic circle of the soul.
Where neither sun nor I
ever reach midheaven,
in the shadow of the pole.

Mine is the land of the noonday moon
and seeping horizon’s twilight tide.
Night a tunnel through to day
which I must see to the other side.

It’s a hypnogogic sea of dreams.
I grasp at passing bergs to float upon
But Titanics sinking feeling provides no purchase
With which to stay this side of gone.

Gabe

When I was growing up one of my best friends was a guy named Gabe. Gabe was a year or two older than me. He was thin and somewhat wiry with glasses and a big nose. He had dropped out of school to work and while he wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree, he had a good heart.

Gabe was one of the best friends a guy could have, because in many ways he was like hanging around with a cartoon character. For instance, Gabe was the only person I have ever known who has been stuck by lightening. He even had the charred bicycle wheel and melted tire to prove it.

Gabe was always working on some kind of interesting mechanical project. When we were younger this usually meant some sort of crazy bicycle contraption; something with long raking forks. One day he was riding down the road in the pouring rain. He was riding past my house, hurrying to get home. Unfortunately, he did not see the parked cars at the side of the road. He hit these going a good clip and sent himself airborne. The extra forks on his bicycle simply carumping like they were made out of aluminum foil.

As we got older, Gabe’s interest turned to motorized things. He always had a mini-bike, go-cart or something that he was playing with. Often these things lacked any sort of safety feature, often not even having any brakes. Gabe’s sneakers, and mine, were often worn right down as a result. One mini-bike had no brakes and the throttle was either all or nothing.

When he became driving age, he approached his motor vehicles with the same zeal. He was always fixing up some van or car. Often these things would only work for limited periods and they spent more time up on blocks in his yard, than on the road. One of Gabe’s best vehicles wan an old station wagon. We loved this car because it had a rear facing third seat and it could handle 9 people easily. We would do crazy things like switch seats, going from front to back and vise versa, by crawling out the window and down the roof of the car. We would even sit up there on the roof as we drove down the highway.

I remember one time Gabe was trying to replace the glass in the rear window. He had gone to the junk yard and had gotten a new piece of glass. He put it in and just as he was making the last adjustments, the things shattered in a million pieces. Gabe never said anything or even got mad. He just went to the junk yard and got another piece. As he was putting in this second piece and again as he was making the final adjustments, he broke this second window as well. After that, Gabe always had a piece of plywood for a rear window. Again, he never got mad or even said a word about it.

While Gabe was a dear friend to me, he could be a terror to others. One time he was riding this kid’s bike around the playground of this abandoned school near where we lived. There was a wooden shed attached to the rear of the building. For no reason and without notice, Gabe got up a head of steam and crashed the bike into this wooden shed; jumping off at the last minute and casting the bike headlong into the sheds wooden door. The door splintered and broke under the assault and the bike crashed into the dark recesses of the shed. Gabe stood there laughing his ass of and the bikes owner just stood there not knowing what to do or say. Just then, the front wheel of the bike popped back out of the door and slowly rolled on its own accord down the playground. With that I was in hysterics too. It really was like something out of a cartoon.

Another time, Gabe and I were coming off the highway. At the end of the ramp there was a kid hitchhiking, one foot on a skateboard. Without a word Gabe aimed right for the kid. The kid, wisely, jumped and ran, but unfortunately left his skateboard on the road. Gabe drove right over it without pausing. I turned to look in time to see two pieces of skateboard fly through the air.

One time we had stopped in the middle of this small town to check into renting inner tubes for tubing on the river. It was a warm day and the small downtown area was doing a brisk business with cars and people everywhere. When we left the store and were returning to his car, Gabe suddenly jumped up on the hood of a Mercedes that was parked there and ran up the roof and down the trunk, jumping off the car in a flourish. Unbeknownst to us, the cars owner was right behind us. She yelled, “what did I ever do to you?” Nothing of course, but she just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. We had to take off like a sot because I am sure she called the cops, but we did not stick around to find out.

Most of the time though, Gabe’s was the victim of his own antics. There was this particular playground we used to hang around and it large truck tires embedded in the ground. For some reason, we got the idea to dig the biggest one up. It took awhile, but we did it. Once free from the ground we stood it on end to check it out. Gabe climbed into the middle of the tire and asked us to push it with him in it, which we of course obliged. The tire did not make even one full revolution. There was still a large chunk of mud in the tire and when that was over Gabe’s head the whole thing fell on him. The tire then fell over and all you could see was Gabe’s ass sticking out of the hole. After we stopped laughing and pulled him free he was filthy from the mud!

Gabe’s family was French Canadian. His parents were very “old school” and none of them spoke English, only French. Gabe ( whose real name was Gabriel ) spoke both, only after I had been friends with Gabe for quite sometime was I allowed in his house. It was one of the tiniest houses I have ever seen. The interesting part was that Gabe had several brothers and sisters and they all occupied this one tiny home. From the outside you could barely seen the place because there were large shrubs that covered the entire side of the home that was visible from the road. Inside the home had the impression that he was more of a cabin than a house. It was unfinished in a number of places and in some rooms, Gabe’s for example, there was exposed plywood on the floor. I don’t think Gabe’s parents liked visitors to their home, or even cared for Gabe much. They always seemed to be yelling at him when I was around.

Gabe was a lot of fun at parties. He usually didn’t drink much, but when he decided to, he got stinking. It was usually about this time that he would pour ketchup on himself and pretend that he had been stabbed. He’d run around with the “bloody” knife shrieking and really going at it. Another time, we were at a party and we were walking out together, just walking and talking, I wasn’t looking, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabe disappear. I spun my head and didn’t see him. It was pitch black. I yelled his name and he said “I’m here”. The voice came from below me. He had just fallen flat out drunk on the ground.

One of my favorite Gabe drunk stories was this time we went to the movies. We used to take the bus to Westfarms Mall to see the movies. This one time Gabe was trashed. We were sitting right up front as we usually were and the place was packed. Gabe was sitting in front of us sorta by himself, when a popcorn fight ensued. At first it was just a few kernels, but Gabe was one to do things in a big way. Suddenly he just threw the whole bucket over his head. He had bought the jumbo size so he just trashed us in popcorn. He then threw the bucket at us too. Shortly thereafter, he threw up all over the floor. We handed him his popcorn bucket back which still had a few kernels in it and he began to eat it, rather then what we intended, which was for him to barf in. He then got up to go to the bathroom.

He was gone quite awhile and so I went to check on him. There were two stalls in the bathroom and only one of them was occupied. I looked under and it looked like Gabes sneakers, so I said “Gabe, you ok?”. There was silence. So I tried again. Nothing. I rapped at the door, “Gabe, man, you OK, in there?” This time I got a groan out of him. I said, “c’mon, Gabe, the movie is playing.” Just more groaning. I got tired of this and went back to the movie, but as I was walking by the outside door, I saw what looked like Gabe sitting outside. I went outside and it was Gabe. It was somebody else in the bathroom!

Gabe was always acting up in public. Another time we had gone to the movies, but had gone out to eat before. Gabe had lobster and he insisted on continuing to wear his bib all night, but he turned it around like a superhero’s cape. One of his favorite things to do was go to the drive through, order something and when they repeated it back, he’d say , “No, I did not order that. I ordered such and such.” He was always doing things like that.

Then there was this one time we had all gone out “partying”. We were really stoned and sitting in Gabe’s car at McDonalds. This car pulled up next to us and a person got out. The person had really long hair. I think Gabe could barely see, but he starts making faces, saying, “oh, yeah, I want that. She’s hot” etc. Then the person turned around, having heard what Gabe had said through his rolled down window. It was a man! Well, we NEVER let Gabe forget that! EVER

As we grew older, we grew apart. I went to college and moved out of town. We stayed in touch for awhile, but when we got back together his antics seemed less funny and simply more… juvenile.

A number of years went by and I hadn’t seen Gabe in all that time. Then one day I ran into him in town. We talked about old times and such and since I was having a party that night, I invited him. When he showed up he was with this really weird other kid. Gabe hadn’t changed much and he acted like a dufus most of the night. After he left, I went in the bathroom. Gabe was the last to use it. He had wiped his hands on my towels and they were all covered in black grease stains. My soon to be wife was not amused and I had to hear it for several months after that about how weird my friends were. I guess you can never go back.

However, I look back at those times as some of the best times of my life. It was a magical twilight period between childhood and adult hood and what person wouldn’t want to have a cartoon character as a best friend as they grew up? I did. Here is to you, Gabe!

Too Many Writers, Not Enough Readers

It's well established that Americans are reading fewer books than they used to. A recent report by the National Endowment for the Arts found that 53 percent of Americans surveyed hadn't read a book in the previous year -- a state of affairs that has prompted much soul-searching by anyone with an affection for (or business interest in) turning pages. But even as more people choose the phantasmagoria of the screen over the contemplative pleasures of the page, there's a parallel phenomenon sweeping the country: collective graphomania. In 2007, a whopping 400,000 books were published or distributed in the United States, up from 300,000 in 2006, according to the industry tracker Bowker, which attributed the sharp rise to the number of print-on-demand books and reprints of out-of-print titles. University writing programs are thriving, while writers' conferences abound, offering aspiring authors a chance to network and "workshop" their work. The blog tracker Technorati estimates that 175,000 new blogs are created worldwide each day (with a lucky few bloggers getting book deals). And the same N.E.A. study found that 7 percent of adults polled, or 15 million people, did creative writing, mostly "for personal fulfillment." In short, everyone has a story -- and everyone wants to tell it. Fewer people may be reading, but everywhere you turn, Americans are sounding their barbaric yawps over the roofs of the world, as good old Walt Whitman, himself a self-published author, once put it. "As publishing has become less expensive, the urge to write my own self has become the opportunity to publish my own self," said Gabriel Zaid, a Mexican critic and the author of So Many Books: Reading and Publishing in an Age of Abundance, a meditation on literary life in an over-booked world. Today, he added, "Everyone now can afford to preach in the desert."

The Greatest

The other morning I woke up after having pondered this question in my dreams, if the entire human race was wiped out and alien archaeologists came here in the future, what would be the top 10 things they would identify as the greatest accomplishments of the human kind? What things would represent the zenith of who we are as a species? So here is my attempt at an answer to this question. I have a variety of reasons for what I chose, but intentionally avoided things, like the “pyramids” for as they are a marvel, I am not sure they fit the definition of the greatest things. Here we go:

( In no particular order )

1) The manned exploration of the moon ( probably my number 1 )
2) The Hubble Space Telescope – the most complex manmade instrument ever
3) Voyager 1 – The most distant man made object
4) The internet – instant access to a whole mountain of information
5) Manipulation of the atom ( atomic energy, the Bomb )
6) Language ( includes in my mind, mathematics and music too )
7) Cloning and the deciphering of the genetic code ( the basic elements of life )
8) The internal combustion engine ( where would we be without it? )
9) Flight ( a dream of mans for centuries is now reality )
10 ) TV ( though I am not so sure about this last one )