ONCE GOLDEN

One Shot Wednesday

Poor little phone book

lying unclaimed in the road

tossed from a moving truck

in the general direction of that mailbox

someone was supposed to pick you up

but they said it's just more clutter

and closed the shutter

You were assembled with care

and you had a PURPOSE

in the beginning...

didn't we all

Now

what's left to behold

but the remnants of a wasted life

a tree

needlessly sacrificed

Your pages

once golden

now covered with dust

prematurely yellowed

with age

subjected to the elements

and whipping in the wind

those of us with similar tire tracks

across our backs

can identify

Lying spread-eagled

like a fallen woman

displaying

(ironically)

the section

for escort services

most of us

wanton as we may be

would not prefer to advertise

in such a blatant manner

And I guess it's one thing

to be yellow

from the outset

(or should that be offset?)

but the insult to injury

must surely be

that my dog

has peed on you

numerous times

All of us created with

the best of intentions

and sometimes

the worst of fates

SAY THE WORDS

For One Shot Wednesday

All life is suffering...

the Buddhists say.

Now THERE'S a rosy forecast for ya.

Imagine your TV weatherman saying:

Partly cloudy tonight with a 10% chance of showers--

and the extended outlook:

MISERY THROUGHOUT ETERNITY!

All life is suffering...

And you say to yourself well surely that can't be--

and you try to think back to a time when you were truly happy,

lips fastened to your mother's breast,

until one day, quite by chance, you discover that dad

has been granted the same privileges.

And that is your first taste...

of betrayal.

Time passes...

And it's like a slap in the face the first time you realize

you're not the be all and end all of anybody's universe--

and that girl, that wonderful girl you think about every waking moment

of your day--wondering whether she's thinking of you--

while all the time she's ecstatic because she's planning

a two week trip to Mexico with some of her friends,

that she intends to tell you about the day before she leaves...

and you KNOW that someday she will give you an emotional kick

in the cojones--and you KNOW that it's coming,

and still you stand there with that stupid grin on your face.

All life is suffering...

And you find yourself a woman--a beautiful woman-

and she takes you to her bed and says:

Touch me here,

and ooh, touch me here,

and oh baby, touch me HERE!

And you are beaming in the afterglow

and you say, OH, please SHOW me who you are...

and she says: Don't touch me...THERE.

Time passes...

You trust no one, you believe in nothing,

and life becomes a nasty cycle of dump or be dumped--

and you begin to wonder just when it was that you became numb--

and still you have the unmitigated BALLS

to hope for a happy ending!

All life is suffering...

And soon you've forgotten why you get up in the morning--

you do it by rote, as if you'd be letting the world down if you weren't one

of the masses of asses sitting at the stoplight

trying to find something worthwhile on the radio--

a favorite song---anything to medicate the pain...

Medicate, masturbate, hibernate...

And you get up in the morning and go into work day after day

like a good dog, where the boss treats you like another piece of the furniture

and he almost sits on you and crushes you with his fat ass.

All life is suffering...

And you're convinced that the best thing to be in life

is a masochist--but that doesn't work either because

masochists must surely suffer when they're not in pain.

And if all life is suffering then the question is:

How then must we live?

How then must we live?

And until we find the answer,

this thing that we do--

this spilling of one's guts onto the page,

this POETRY,

becomes your only salvation...

and mine.

For I can take the pain--

work it, shape it, and transform it into a gift

that you will willingly accept

because you know that it's been there all along

like the refrain from a song

that you've heard a thousand times before

but somehow

it's different now...

and all I need to do is say the words.

FLASH FICTION (Tasty morsels of profundity!)

Women's Intuition

She said: "Who's that man with the whore?"

He said: "That's no whore...that's my wife!"

She said: "Then, who's that man with your wife?"

He said: "Why... that little whore!"

2010 ALL SOULS PROCESSION--TUCSON, AZ

The 21st annual All Souls Procession was held in Tucson on Sunday evening, November 7th. Inspired by Mexico's Dia De Los Muertos holiday, All Souls is a bit of Mardi Gras, New Orleans style jazz funeral, and Burning Man celebration rolled into one. It's a time of remembrance for departed loved ones, and a simultaneous celebration of life.

(I'm still learning the fine points of resizing my videos to meet Blogger's requirements, so double click on the the videos below for easier viewing.)

At the spectacular finale, members of the Tucson based troupe Flam Chen are lifted high into the air by a giant crane, performing their amazing aerobatics and derring-do without a net. Just below them, a giant urn filled with the names of departed loved ones is set afire. (The young woman twisting and twirling at the end of the silk in this video is a friend of mine!)


Bonus footage!

FLASH FICTION (tasty morsels of profundity)

The Ninety-Nine Cent Store was

doing a brisk business... until the

Ninety-Eight Cent Store moved

in across the street. The owner

hung his head and wept. "Why

didn't WE think of that?" he sobbed.

LIFE IN THE CITY

The last eligible Big Shot

quaffs his drink

and strolls from the piano bar

into the incandescent night.

Large folks

who are livin' large

linger at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

A brash lightweight boxer

jitterbugs with his girlfriend

who resembles Olive Oyl

and feels he is in a Popeye cartoon.

The last of the early evening joggers puffs by,

making sedentary bystanders feel like slackers.

She takes a break at the park

where young boys are laughing

and urinating in front of her.

She has lingering questions

about the human gene pool.

Not far away, burning the midnight oil in his office,

the devoted clerk dutifully cooks the books for the boss.

In a modest house in a middle-class neighborhood,

mom cooks macaroni and cheese again tonight,

cutting corners, though the family's income

is close to the median figure for the area.

 Next house over,

upstairs in her bed,

Janie dreams of her teenage lover

and draws pentagrams in her school notebook,

ignoring the history assignment for tomorrow.

The big shot, ensconced in his cozy pad,

calls his almost-ready-to-leave-him girlfriend

and makes an offer she cant refuse.

Tickets to an off-Broadway show

and a spacious hotel suite.

Though his hopes of buying her love for a lifetime are illusory, 

he is thick-skinned, and will play his hand.

Outside a convenience store

two clerks on break trade jokes.

Cigarette smoke hangs in the air

like an unanswered question.

They speculate about global warming and toxic sludge.

A customer approaches, intent on drawing himself a Slurpee.

Movie goers spill from the lobbies,

the soles of their shoes gummy with unknown substances,

the boxer and his beanpole among them.

Embellishing his record, he regales her

with tales of pugilistic prowess.

In a huge tent at the edge of town,

a "Man of God" spits stormy, incendiary words,

dogmatizing the meaning of life--

working his congregation into a frenzy

custom designed for those who would consign their minds.

Then, the laying on of hands,

with special attention awarded to teenage girls.

A gentle breeze passes

and the night settles 

into a respectful silence.

Alone in her apartment,

the jogger snacks on a rice cake.

Her biological clock is ticking,

and she feels 

that she is running

out of time.

The large folks who are livin' large

have torn themselves away

from the all-you-can-eat buffet,

driving away

in their Hummers and SUVs--

muttering about the price of gas.

The city encroaches daily

on all that grandpa held dear.

And somewhere in a ravine,

the last wolverine

dismembers the unsuspecting

plumbers helper,

while the man in the moon

looks down...

and smiles.