Demolition

Brick by brick,

we can demolish

it. Rome certainly wasn’t

destroyed in a day.

(Unless that day was

August 24, 410 AD.

When the Barbarians

sacked Rome.)

But metaphorically

speaking, we can

dismantle the intangible

walls and imaginary blockades

keeping us apart.   

We can demolish the

bastions of willful ignorance

and illuminate their halls

with the streaming light

of possibility.

It can all be torn down,

trampled and pulverized,

the walls of the small minded hibernationists,

the ostriches with their heads in the

sands of time.

We can show them it can all be re-made,

re-imagined, re-engineered,

re-thought and tried again,

and again, until we get it right.

Demolitions are only the start.

The preconceived notions of what

walls are, their impenetrability, their,

strength are merely projections of what

we’ve been told they are.  We can tear

down any wall, like barbarians.

When It's Quiet

When it’s quiet,

and there’s nothing

stirring about,

the winds are calm,

the lake is glassy and flat,

the rustle of trees is hushed,

I can think.

Thinking is horrifying.

The mind whips up scenarios

so troubling, disturbing and

nightmarish that I long for

the cacophony of congestion,

voices other than my own and

the illusive grinding noise of city

life.

There’s a curious comfort in the

madness of noise.

For me.

A city boy.

Rural peacefulness is an uncomfortable

horror show of the worst imagined

possibilities.  Everything is coming

to get me, every bug, cricket and

mosquito. To murder me.

The noises of traffic, ambulances,

sirens, shouting, movement, rushing

about seems more like life to me than

the stillness of a lazy river slowly drifting

downhill, with critters croaking and ribbeting,

along the banks. Muddy, silence.

It gives me the heebie-Jeebies.

Purposeful noise means progress to me,

kinetic and energized, moving towards

some planned goal, some practical advancement,

some elusive accomplishment, giving me

comfort, and a baffling sense of pride.

Reaffirming that the world, for all its steel

and glass, cement and asphalt; is alive.

It must be Summer in the city.

Head Scratcher

It’s a head scratcher,

a mystery to me,

a riddle,

like math or basic

automotive repair.

I don’t get it.

I’m baffled by the

affections of those

lovers around me,

their connection is like

trying to catch mist in a sieve.

How’d they do that?

I long for the investment of

someone’s heart, their thoughts

lingering on me just as my thoughts

linger on them, an unhealthy mutual obsession,

clothed in sanity.

Is there a store I can go?

It seems insane to me,

this repetitive cycle of curious

investment, inquiry and appreciation,

to be misunderstood or awkwardly

rejected after a short time.

Who drew these blueprints?

It stings. Although I’m not supposed

to let it show. I just have to be tough

and keep my hurt, disappointment and

longing under wraps, muted and pretend

I’m still optimistic; when I am not.

It’s pretty confusing.

I’m told I’ll meet the right one,

the one who’ll “get” me, who’ll

understand all the madness and

wade in excitedly with arms outstretched,

and plant a sloppy wet kiss on my lips.

Maybe not so sloppy.

I’m getting to old to sound so

much like a dopey, love sick

teenager; and maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe I’ve been so jaded by those lost loves

that I can’t even recognize it now.

Although it’s not really obvious.

No flirting, no fun, no awkward encounters,

leading to romance, no late nights spent

up till dawn exploring the things that make

each other tick, no. None of that.

I don’t get that.

I get sleepy these days.

I suppose I’ll just continue to mourn for the old

passions, those long-extinguished blazes

of hot love, bubbling with excitement and

opportunities to be something for someone,

and be someone’s something.

Still…, a real head scratcher.

A Hasty Essay for Independence Day

When I was a schoolboy, I was instilled with a deep love and respect for my country; The United States of America. A spell was put on me drenched in swirling patriotism, justice and a desire to see equality for all mankind.

I swelled with pride every morning as we spoke the Pledge of Allegiance in school, hand over my heart, absolute and resolute in my patriotism. I believed the U.S.A. was indeed the greatest Nation.

I was so filled with amazement by what a determined group of men and women could do to

forge a government from the philosophies of Voltaire, and make it real.  

The notion that all are endowed with inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness; and that it is our human destiny to be free. Freedom, no matter the cost, was an intrinsic right, like breathing. It was sacred, holy, and unquestionably good.

As a teenager, like all teenagers, I began to question those unshakable beliefs.  I began to wonder if the punch I had been drinking might be more bitter than I was led to believe. Perhaps it was not all so sweet, pure and freshly squeezed.

The wrinkles of history, the cracks in the legends of Democracy began to become more apparent, the mortar on which I had laid my bricks of patriotism was weak.  I recoiled in horror at the things done in the name of Freedom, Equality and the pursuit of happiness.  The dark side of liberty.

My 20’s, I can’t really remember with much accuracy my feelings about my country. I remember touting the blessings of a free people, a free government and the right to drink on  a rooftop balcony while fireworks exploded in the background and I screamed about how awesome we were.

2001 arrived and brought with it such wrath against the United States of America from lands that seemed far too distant. I didn’t know then, how much some of the rest of the world just didn’t like us, how they hated us. I was sad that we, as a country, had created such vitriolic hate through our policies, our greed and ignorance.

I mourned the loss of that Country my younger self had so eagerly and willingly believed in. I was sad for my own blindness and loss of innocence. I was ashamed that I believed in a Country that didn’t seem to exist any longer. I felt grief like I had lost my best friend.

Yet, the mourning, slowly turned to a sort of historic anger. That we had allowed ourselves to be sucked into the very beliefs that our founders had warned us about. They knew, even in their own time, that delicate balance a Republic must maintain, and the work that must be done to protect those rights we feel deep within our hearts and to defeat despots, tyrants and manipulators of fear in our own backyards.

Now, in my 40’s, I still believe in the U.S.A. and the ideals for which we stand. I believe a people, united, can learn from the mistakes of history and create a vision of the future long dreamed of by those people that read a little Voltaire, and thought, “That could work!”

We can create that country, that was so impressive to a young boy in grammar school learning about his own place in society. We can be a benevolent and just country, if we only try. I long to feel that swell of pride in my chest as I did as a young man.

We are always evolving as a country, open to new ideas, people and exploring the potential for all persons to rise to the challenge’s freedom presents. We can be inclusive, generous, and strive for fairness.  We can.

As we celebrate our Independence Day tomorrow, I hope that torch of liberty can be seen reflected in our eyes and each of us can smile at one another knowing that we’re all in this together, and we’ll always be there for each other, United; and make a new generation of schoolchildren proud. 

No Wizards

Being a citizen of the world is hard.

It’s just tough to see each other,

to realize that we’re all just trying to get into

a comfy bed at night and not get murdered by life.

It is not at all that easy to be a person in this place.

We make it so hard on each other.

We always have. Based on the most

inconsequential differences possible.

Even if everyone was exactly the same,

I’m sure we’d find a way to piss each other off.

It’d be about what we’re wearing, or where we live,

or who has the best batting average.

It’s all nonsense buried in our minds that we

have to protect what is ours as individuals, and not what

is ours as an entire species. A manipulated fear

response to that mysterious thing creeping in the dark.

Is it the Devil?

Is it a wild pack of animals?

It is Zombies?

Is it Walt Disney back for our souls?

Do we shout from our huts, “We can’t let you drink

from our well, that’s ours. I mean, I know we as a

species all need water to survive, but you;

we irrationally fear you, so you can’t have any of this water.”

I’m certainly not an innocent in this behavior.

I’m just as flawed in my preconceived perceptions.

I have not always been so open or so dreamily

wishing for a world of fearless equanimity.

I judge and get angry at other global citizens,

I have little patience for arrogant ignorance,

or mindless prattling on about the inanest subjects;

Evolution has conditioned me to be rationally fearful of real threats, and respond.

It likely helped me in my early life like a safety system;

otherwise I probably would have gotten into

every colorful van in which the driver was offering

me free candy, puppies and rocket rides.

But there’s certainly a difference between rational fears

of being kidnapped or murdered, and irrational fears like being

magically brainwashed into changing my sexual orientation because I used

the same bathroom as a non-binary individual.

There’s a monumental difference between a rational

fear, like being killed on the highway while driving to

work; and an irrational fear like an undocumented

immigrant eating my brains while wearing a beard of bees.

Fear is the reasonable and rational response to

danger. It’s an appropriate reaction to serious

threats to our person. It is reasonable to react strongly

to real threats.  It’s wrong to make up threats.

Made up threats, like homosexuality corrupting children, or

immigrants stealing your jobs, or that women are incapable

of making their own choices about their bodies;

it’s all just wrong.

Fictional threats are a perversion of our evolution as a species,

not as a race or nationality, or even identity. We are one

species that has to deal with the reality of our

world and the actual threats that will kill us.

Choosing to deal in fantasy and wild,

unfounded speculation does no one

any favors. It cheapens us as a species,

debases us as people and drives all the hate we don’t need.

Unless like, Wizards started appearing and

started dropping dragons all over us,

I’m pretty sure we could all get on board the anti-Wizard

platforms.  Am I right?