Held Together by a Thread

Early Saturday Morning... even the dogs asleep, caffine jucing my genes, I take this title and decide to let my mind really run free, to see what might come out...an experiment...don't try it: You will shock even yourself! here it is:

Held Together by a Thread

Tenuous at best our life consists

Locked daily in desolate straits

of time and need

of illusion and greed

of now not later,

Rushing and running through naked streets

filled with whores and yesterday's detritus

and grim realities of tomorrow.

Headlong, plunging blindly, grasping,

breathing in the filth of life,

grime and dark smears,

Black Eyes of souls, lifeless, irrelevant, mechanical, predictable, manicial,

Screaming:

Look at me

Give me

Affirm me

Notice me

My need, my hurt,

my, my, my

A sickening litany.

Waiting---for What?

Escape?

to what, to where, another place?

The Diner on the Dusty Desert highway maybe,

Where Freedom is an illusion,

littered with laughing voices, roaring, faster still?

Here?

Time, The Shadow, relentless in pursuit,

mocking our movements,

laughing hideously at all efforts of escape...

Stop! The Shadow waits, knowing we will move again

Running against its pursuit.....Do something! Now! It can't wait,

But What?

Doesn't matter---more---hold it together, it will melt

Move, Now, How?

Never mind... another knee-jerk reaction The Shadow expected as

Tricks in a mind unwound,

winding again,

won't work

the Thread winds tighter still

Then.....

Then, Silence

It sleeps

Motion ceased.

Time moves, silently against the backdrop of light,

Shadows of itself, as mental threads weave slowly

the Pattern of Another's choice

against all defense of will.

Fingers tire, release first

The heart quietens,

head light,

terror subsides

Temporary, only temporary

Smouldering, The Fire of Passion will burn again.

Soon.

Outside birds move in jerks, singing cheerless songs--they must sing their songs

Of what?

Who can tell...

And of us, of us,

Who can tell?

Lives, Held Together by a Thread.

March 29, 2008

Yield Right-of-Way...Manifesto of a Zen Buddhist

Friends:
Yield Right-of-Way....
Manifesto of a Zen Buddhist
Sign, sign everywhere a sign, blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind: do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign... Five Man Electrical Band, 1970

I once crawled across the US in my daughter's 240D Benz, 4 cylinder diesel, hauling her college stuff home and stopping at the national parks to run trails. It was 1990...I was younger and wilder then and in better shape!

Signs of all sorts ubiquitously blast the eyes with messages subliminal and stark, and at 60 mph contemplation comes easily. The church signs were the best...here are some I've seen:
A lot of Kneeling will keep you in Good Standing.
Church Parking Trespassers will be Baptized.
If you think this is Hot...God.
The Rapture: Separation of Church and State.

There are plenty of highway signs, too. On the long, lonely stretches of road I would try to imagine the many ways they might be interpreted...view these through the lens of my curiously warped mind:
Slow People Crossing
Slow Men Working
Stay Right (also, Stay Left)
One Way, Wrong Way
Dead End
Terminal Parking Ahead

See what I mean?

Late one afternoon in the parking lot for a trailhead in the Brigadier Mtns. near Santa Fe, I laced my fast-starts for a run. A fellow in jeans got out of his pickup, jerked off his shirt and did likewise with his shoes. Charles was his name, a total stranger, a carpenter he said. "You gonna run," I asked..."Yeah, man, you wanna come along?" With fists pumping, together we sprinted out of that parking lot, leaving all signs of civilization behind.

In spite of an oxygen deficit, we violently attacked 5 miles of the trail, two chariots of fire, like gazelles in the forests of our minds, defying all warning signs of danger...two middle-aged studs looking for afternoon excitement on a trail.

He led and I followed, our lungs gasping for air. Conversation lagged, but not until we had exchanged some personal info. Among other things, he was a Zen Buddhist, and when I asked later what his astrological sign was, he remarked, "Yield Right-of-Way." Strange, but true to Zen thought, I mused. That thought, "Yield R/W," has haunted me ever since that run, and the sign, "Yield R/W," has put a whole new twist on how I viewed life's signs.

The sun set that day on two exhausted trail runners in a common parking lot. With a handshake and a hug, two strangers retreated to their own uncharted life-trails littered with confusing signs. Carpenter Charles never knew it, but he left me with a gift. I have adopted his sign, "Yield Right of Way," as my personal manifesto. It has proven to be very useful in navigating through this strange drama we call life.

And so I now pass it on to you..."Yield Right of Way" to somebody today!


Bud
March 27, 2008

Famous Last Words

Friends: Famous Last Words

Chaotic WEEK, I'd say...financial-world meltdowns, discussions about race, anniversary of an unpopular and costly war, infidelity in high places and political posturing on all sides are some examples. What is Truth, we wonder?

It is also what's called "Holy Week" in the Christian Church, and 2000 years ago it was just as chaotic. It all got me thinking about "last words"...those final thoughts expressed just before the lights went out. Here are a few for you to ponder:

Bogart: "I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis."
Julius Caesar: "Et tu, Brute?"
Churchill: "I'm bored with it all."
Edison: "It's very beautiful over there."
Heine (poet): "God will pardon me--that's his line of work."
King Louis XIV: "Why do you weep? Did you think I was immortal?"
My Banker: "I loaned him how much?"
Redneck: "Hey y'all, watch this."

The Gospel of St. John, 19:30, records the last words of Jesus: "It is finished." I suspect words from One being crucified might have significant meaning, perhaps interpreted as: Relief, or hopelessness, or rejection. But I suggest He might have meant "Thanks, the Redemption is now accomplished." At least that's how I like to interpret these final words.

So this Week I consider what my "final words" one day might be.

Since the voice of Age 66 whispers, "fewer days, fewer days," I think I will begin rehearsing what I hope will someday be my last words: "Thanks for it all...", spoken with a smile as I see the curtain fall!

May the Words of Good Friday yield for you an Easter Sunday of renewed hope and joy amid a chaotic world.

Bud
March 20, 2008

Client #9....Viagra is Ruining Our Government

Friends: Client # 9 ….
Viagra is Ruining Our Government

Well, this week’s Spitzer affair is just too salacious to pass up writing about, so here’s my take, full of puns.

Descriptions of all sorts have been offered up to define this scandal. I can understand the facts of it, perhaps the psychological implications of it, the hypocrisy of it, the arrogance and hubris of it, but what troubles me the most is the “cost of it.” Webster will be adding yet another term to the dictionary this year: Client # 9 to summarize the event. This soon-to-be cliché will join other such innovative descriptions like, “It depends on what your definition of ‘is’ is; Abscam; Watergate and Waterboarding."

For all his talent and empirical integrity, Spitzer was dull and boring in his approach to the tryst. Compare it with some of the more notable sexual scandals of the past:
Wilbur Mills and Fanne Fox, later known as “The Tidal Basin Bombshell”…Wilbur, the old alcoholic, resigned in disgrace from the Ways and Means Committee….
Take Gary Hart and the Playboy chick Donna Rice, cavorting in public on the yacht “Monkey Business…” now, that’s real panache!
Then there was Rita and John Jenrette, reputed to have favored the steps of the Capitol….bold;
Don’t forget Earl Long, called “The Last of the Red Hot Pappas,” and his stripper, Blaze Starr… made for movies;
Teddy had his Chappaquiddick and Willie his West Wing;
Chuck Robb and Tai Collins avowed that they only had champagne and massages…and Gore didn’t inhale either!
Even our progenitor Alex Hamilton confessed in public the slimy details…a media’s dream!

“Indiscretions” abound in our political world: Bobby and Marilyn, the foot-tapper Larry Craig or the Peanut Pickin’ Preacher from Plains with lust in his heart…Excuse me!...what else would you get from reading Playboy?

The whole affair is filled with irony and stupidity. The Emperor’s Club VIP was a “shell” company; it “priced” the girls differently: Susie for $1,000, but Kristen for $5,500… same person maybe? Duh? Then there’s the venue of it: Washington, DC, perhaps the capital of prostitution in all its forms, from politicians to lobbyists to escort services and all things in between.

If Spitzer were creative, he would claim he had gone undercover to bust yet another ring of prostitution, and in his zeal he had personally front-ended the $80,000 cost of the investigation. He could boast great success, and perhaps be given yet another medal for rooting out evil in Gotham City and Washington. But, No, he chose contrition, crawling out of the weeds like a groveling rodent looking for sympathy. And poor Silda, dragged through this mess and propped up there to face the media, yet another “stand-by-your-man” spouse who will soon get her own revenge…if he thought $5,500 was expensive, just wait…

But back to my take: Inflation. You ask “How could an hour cost so much?” Back in the old days…and I won’t go too far back lest it bring to memory skeletons of ones own Mayflower Hotel, Room 871, … gas was $0.29 per gallon: new cars cost $2,500; the movie was $0.25 and popcorn $0.10. But today, gas over $3.50, movies $8, popcorn and a coke $5, and a new car about $35,000. So, don’t be surprised if escort services charge $5,500 for their merchandise. Why not? This is America…. Res ipsa loquitor!

And like you, I long to know who the other 8 Clients are .... Feet of clay, my friends, Feet of clay!!


Bud
March 13, 2008

"See Dick Run".....

Friends:
“See Dick Run”…

“ Against the wind, I’m still running against the wind,
Well I’m older now and still running against the wind.” Bob Seger lyrics


" See Dick run,” prescient words in the Dick and Jane primer written in the 1930’s by Dr. Bill Gray, a man who knew something about human nature. These were perhaps the first words many of us read as we entered 1st. grade…remember? Dick was joined in his activities by Jane, Spot, Tim, Puff, Mom and Dad.

Somehow I think Dr. Gray used “Dick” in a metaphorical sense for “us,” and it’s interesting if you look at it that way. Wonder why “run” was the action verb, instead of See Dick sit, sleep, hide, eat, etc? I think he was preparing “Dick” for his life’s work: Running. And it’s surely a way of life in our culture. Dick was a running fool!

Take a look at him:
* See Dick Run: helter-skelter for fun, later organized high school track meets;
* See Dick Compete in college, the job market;
* See Dick Balance a career and families…run faster, Dick;
* See Dick Exercise…more running, faster…keep the heart fit—Why? more running!
* See Dick Borrow…gotta keep up with the Joneses;
* See Dick Buy…cars, houses, vacations, stuff; buy, buy, buy.
* See Dick Panic…not enough, not enough…run, run, run;
* See Dick Hide…but where, I’m looking, I’m looking?

Dick had a dog, Spot…he chased his tail like dogs do. Then there were the Prideful Tigers in the Helen Bannerman tale of Little Black Sambo, written in 1899. We don’t know what became of Spot, but the Tigers ran so fast in a circle that they became a pool of butter, spread on the 169 pancakes Sambo ate. Some stories have a happy ending. Yet Dick is still running.

Poor Dick: he finds that Time is running, too, and he’s about to run out of it. The world of “what-if, not-enough, if-only” gets in the way of retirement, and besides all that, the price of gas is up, his home equity vaporized, Visa maxed out and his 401 (K) is sinking fast. Dick’s been running so long he doesn’t know another lifestyle, so in desperation he changes Parties and votes Democrat, where the promise of Redistribution is the last hope. “Let our children run for awhile,” he says…"I’m out of gas!”

“Running on empty, running blind; Running into the sun, but I’m running behind.”
Jackson Browne Lyrics

See Dick Quit. Sitting in the declining rays of the Florida sun in Garden Hills Retirement Village, Dick figures it all out, but it’s too late to do much about it…remorse sets in. He commiserates with the other Unfortunates how the deck was stacked against him. He thinks of the Biblical Job and sighs, “I should have run faster when I could,” his lament blending with the common liturgical voice of his companions. Dick thinks, "What kind of ending is this for a man who has run all his life?" He curses the heavens. He thinks his epitaph will be the famous words of Joe Louis, uttered in 1946, “He can run, but he cannot Hide.” Billy Conn lost that heavyweight fight, you recall!

Some questions remain unanswered in the Dick and Jane primer, like, “What became of Jane?” We can only speculate, but it’d be my guess she got pregnant, had a lot of little Dicks and Janes and suffered right along side of her husband (or husbands)…cooking, washing, cleaning, nursing, enduring and finally getting a night job at Wal-Mart. Just speculation.

We’re always looking for closure with a fairy-tale ending, like, “And they all lived happily ever after.” Is there one within the barrage of bad news today? Not for a lot of folks, unfortunately…life looks bleak. While I don’t know about you, I’m upping my running mileage, just in case!

“See Dick Run…” and you might want to take a good look at yourself while there’s still time !!!

Bud
March 6, 2008