The Painted glass shimmers in song
Shafts of light pierce the empty spirits sitting
Beneath a blazing eye, jealous and spiteful
A curse, A prayer, A calling of fear
Emerges like a cancerous bliss
rises like a mushroom cloud
Rain floats down from ebony eyes
pooling like blood in a wasteland
blinding bone-white
clean and full of grace
To drink the chalice of a sunset red
To be refined in rivers dirty and dark
Broken hands reap what holy flesh sowed
Treasure or trash or something unknown
Separate we search, united we find
Human and deaf and weary and blind
We go on because we must
This and this alone is life
Friday, April 27, 2007
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Everything's Eventualism
Editor's Clarification: Okay, because of a post made a few weeks back, some may have drawn wrong conclusions about my mostly imaginary relationship with a certain obscure talk show host/icon. For all records, I like Oprah. I really do. She's compassionate, enthusiastic and purpose-driven. I merely, for sake of my own amusement (It's funny...to me.), pointed out some peeves I have with the show. (And yes, I do have a lotta peeves about a lotta things. Nahhhh. *sticking my tongue out*) The point of the post was to ridicule The Secret. Mission accomplished. I'm going to go take off my Navy flight suit now. Uh....strategery. Yeah. On to the topic of the hour.
Alrighty. Eventualism. I stole the term from a Soderbergh movie called Schizopolis. It's used as a parody of "religions" like Scientology. Well, with all apologies to Steven, I'm totally stealing the term for a definition (redefinition?) that better suits me. (Hey, it is my blog so it can be ALL about me. Heh heh.)
There is a movement afoot in America. It involves purple bracelets (purple?!) and a solemn vow to not complain for like eternity. I found out about this on you-know-whose talk show. It was started by a preacher and kinda took off. Now one quote stuck with me from this show that set alarms off in my head and unloosed a frantic robot in my brain shouting "DANGER WILL HANKINSON! DANGER!" Okay, it didn't actually say that but you get the picture. The preacher said that "complaining is a bad habit that stems from people wanting things to be different." This is paraphrased but the meaning is intact. For us simple country folk, what he is saying is that we should accept things just like they are and not "complain" in hope of eliciting change. Complacency anyone?
Simple truth: change happens all the time. From weather, to our bodies, to places, to all things great and small. I'm asserting a viewpoint that now is a culmination of all thens and the future is a hope pulling us forward, ultimately fulfilled when we accept change and react to it ethically in the successive series of nows. Eventualism. Now, I may have just caused aneurysms in some people and I believe I'm suffering one myself having just written this. Basically change is the natural state of existence, we must accept that and attempt to be ethical beings regardless because it's the only path to a worthwhile future for ourselves and humanity in general. Eventualism. There, I tried it again.
Now that we all have regained consciousness from our blown-brain moment, I can explain the difficulty with living eventualistically. Simply put, in some cases, change hurts. Badly. Our bodies and minds break with illness, people we love live and die and emerge and vanish, the stability we've created in our lives can be erased at the whim of natural occurence. It's life. Some attempt to run from change and the associated pain. Blaise Pascal says in his Pensées that if we didn't move, chance, risk or act, we could avoid the pain of life. So, if we become turnips life would be ducky. Not practical. We cannot refuse to move because there might be pain. We also cannot run from existential pain because it will hunt us down and try to break us. I know of what I speak. I've been prey before. As hard as it is (but hey, it sounds easy), we must walk through. Accept the pain as the natural price for living a full, glorious life. For the Runners who read this, you cause yourself more pain than any person should bear. At some point of wisdom, you will realize this and truth will reveal itself in all clarity. For all who read this, I send peace, empathy but mostly hope. Never give in, never fade away. All things pass and everything is eventual.
Alrighty. Eventualism. I stole the term from a Soderbergh movie called Schizopolis. It's used as a parody of "religions" like Scientology. Well, with all apologies to Steven, I'm totally stealing the term for a definition (redefinition?) that better suits me. (Hey, it is my blog so it can be ALL about me. Heh heh.)
There is a movement afoot in America. It involves purple bracelets (purple?!) and a solemn vow to not complain for like eternity. I found out about this on you-know-whose talk show. It was started by a preacher and kinda took off. Now one quote stuck with me from this show that set alarms off in my head and unloosed a frantic robot in my brain shouting "DANGER WILL HANKINSON! DANGER!" Okay, it didn't actually say that but you get the picture. The preacher said that "complaining is a bad habit that stems from people wanting things to be different." This is paraphrased but the meaning is intact. For us simple country folk, what he is saying is that we should accept things just like they are and not "complain" in hope of eliciting change. Complacency anyone?
Simple truth: change happens all the time. From weather, to our bodies, to places, to all things great and small. I'm asserting a viewpoint that now is a culmination of all thens and the future is a hope pulling us forward, ultimately fulfilled when we accept change and react to it ethically in the successive series of nows. Eventualism. Now, I may have just caused aneurysms in some people and I believe I'm suffering one myself having just written this. Basically change is the natural state of existence, we must accept that and attempt to be ethical beings regardless because it's the only path to a worthwhile future for ourselves and humanity in general. Eventualism. There, I tried it again.
Now that we all have regained consciousness from our blown-brain moment, I can explain the difficulty with living eventualistically. Simply put, in some cases, change hurts. Badly. Our bodies and minds break with illness, people we love live and die and emerge and vanish, the stability we've created in our lives can be erased at the whim of natural occurence. It's life. Some attempt to run from change and the associated pain. Blaise Pascal says in his Pensées that if we didn't move, chance, risk or act, we could avoid the pain of life. So, if we become turnips life would be ducky. Not practical. We cannot refuse to move because there might be pain. We also cannot run from existential pain because it will hunt us down and try to break us. I know of what I speak. I've been prey before. As hard as it is (but hey, it sounds easy), we must walk through. Accept the pain as the natural price for living a full, glorious life. For the Runners who read this, you cause yourself more pain than any person should bear. At some point of wisdom, you will realize this and truth will reveal itself in all clarity. For all who read this, I send peace, empathy but mostly hope. Never give in, never fade away. All things pass and everything is eventual.
Friday, April 6, 2007
A poem I appreciate greatly
Crucifixion
By Phil Ochs
And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe expodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the briliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies.
In the green fields a turnin', a baby is born
His cries crease the wind and mingle with the morn
An assault upon the order, the changing of the guard
Chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard
And the only single sound is the sighing of the stars
But to the silence and distance they are sworn
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Images of innocence charge him go on
But the decadence of destiny is looking for a pawn
To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate
And a blinding revelation is laid upon his plate
That beneath the greatest love is a hurricane of hate
And God help the critic of the dawn.
So he stands on the sea and shouts to the shore,
But the louder that he screams the longer he's ignored
For the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs
And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged
'Till the giant is aware, someone's pulling at his leg,
And someone is tapping at the door.
To dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Then his message gathers meaning and it spreads accross the land
The rewarding of his pain is the following of the man
But ignorance is everywhere and people have their way
Success is an enemy to the losers of the day
In the shadows of the churches, who knows what they pray
For blood is the language of the band.
The Spanish bulls are beaten; the crowd is soon beguiled,
The matador is beautiful, a symphony of style
Excitement is estatic, passion places bets
Gracefully he bows to ovations that he gets
But the hands that are applauding are slippery with sweat
And saliva is falling from their smiles
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Then this overflow of life is crushed into a liar
The gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire.
First a smile of rejection at the nearness of the night
Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the light
All the (canonsheavens) are horrified, they stagger from the sight
As the cross is trembling with desire.
They say they can't believe it, it's a sacreligious shame
Now, who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
But you know I predicted it; I knew he had to fall
How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small.
Tell me every detail, I've got to know it all,
And do you have a picture of the pain?
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Time takes her toll and the memory fades
but his glory is broken, in the magic that he made.
Reality is ruined; it's the freeing from the fear
The drama is distorted, to what they want to hear
Swimming in their sorrow, in the twisting of a tear
As they wait for a new thrill parade.
The eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind
To the safety of sterility, the threat has been refined
The child was created to the slaughterhouse he's led
So good to be alive when the eulogy is read
The climax of emotion, the worship of the dead
And the cycle of sacrifice unwinds.
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe expodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the briliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he died.
By Phil Ochs
And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe expodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the briliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies.
In the green fields a turnin', a baby is born
His cries crease the wind and mingle with the morn
An assault upon the order, the changing of the guard
Chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard
And the only single sound is the sighing of the stars
But to the silence and distance they are sworn
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Images of innocence charge him go on
But the decadence of destiny is looking for a pawn
To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate
And a blinding revelation is laid upon his plate
That beneath the greatest love is a hurricane of hate
And God help the critic of the dawn.
So he stands on the sea and shouts to the shore,
But the louder that he screams the longer he's ignored
For the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs
And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged
'Till the giant is aware, someone's pulling at his leg,
And someone is tapping at the door.
To dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Then his message gathers meaning and it spreads accross the land
The rewarding of his pain is the following of the man
But ignorance is everywhere and people have their way
Success is an enemy to the losers of the day
In the shadows of the churches, who knows what they pray
For blood is the language of the band.
The Spanish bulls are beaten; the crowd is soon beguiled,
The matador is beautiful, a symphony of style
Excitement is estatic, passion places bets
Gracefully he bows to ovations that he gets
But the hands that are applauding are slippery with sweat
And saliva is falling from their smiles
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Then this overflow of life is crushed into a liar
The gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire.
First a smile of rejection at the nearness of the night
Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the light
All the (canonsheavens) are horrified, they stagger from the sight
As the cross is trembling with desire.
They say they can't believe it, it's a sacreligious shame
Now, who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
But you know I predicted it; I knew he had to fall
How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small.
Tell me every detail, I've got to know it all,
And do you have a picture of the pain?
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
Time takes her toll and the memory fades
but his glory is broken, in the magic that he made.
Reality is ruined; it's the freeing from the fear
The drama is distorted, to what they want to hear
Swimming in their sorrow, in the twisting of a tear
As they wait for a new thrill parade.
The eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind
To the safety of sterility, the threat has been refined
The child was created to the slaughterhouse he's led
So good to be alive when the eulogy is read
The climax of emotion, the worship of the dead
And the cycle of sacrifice unwinds.
So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you
And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe expodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the briliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he died.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Speaking for the Dead
My brother Michael died on July 4, 2003. It was five days after his 26th birthday. He died of pneumonia and heart failure caused by the weakening of his heart by Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy. The same disease I have. Our Perfect Enemy.
We didn't always get along because there was only two years between us. I must admit that being the older one did have its privileges. Primarily picking on the younger one is the biggest privilege. I really, really pushed that privilege. Mike had cognitive delay issues as well as a plethora of learning disabilities. His temper was thermonuclear, but it was easy to find his "big red button" and push it. I caused quite a few meltdowns. His brown eyes turned darker brown, his Italian complexion shaded red, his voice became tight and he stuttered. The relationship we had in our youth was natural, but like all things in nature our relationship evolved. When we entered our twenties, we fought no more. We realized that we were the only brothers we had. From there, he became my best friend. I could tell him anything and he could count on me to listen to anything. I had a treasure and I knew it.
I don't remember when the conversation with God happened. After high school graduation I'm sure. I had it all figured out and I was laying out the plan. When I used to speak to God, I didn't bow my head with eyes closed. I always looked up and spoke aloud in a quiet place locked away from the world. The plan was simple: I would die first, then Grandma who was our caregiver and Mike would go last. It was fair, straight and statistically likely. It was my only askance.
Michael went to the hospital in June 2003, one year after having an episode of pneumonia that hospitalized him. He recovered then. I knew he would. I knew. In 2003, I knew he would fight and win again. In 2003, I was wrong. He was gone and ooooooooooooohhhhhh God there was pain. Now, hollowness. Then, rending pain. I WAS SUPPOSED TO GO FIRST. ME. Not him. Me. I was older, weaker and sick more often. Didn't matter. None of it mattered. He was GONE. Taken. Taken from me.
I understand survivor's guilt. I understand it wasn't my fault. Yet I still feel betrayed, cheated and even rage sometimes. He should be writing here and I should be in the next place. It is only fair, but life's not fair. So I live. I move along. There is a caveat, however. A vow I made to myself, the universe and Whoever is listening. I live FOR him. I will speak FOR him. He always trusted me without question. He believed in me, believed in goodness, believed in justice. So, as debt to him, I will live to try to create the world he wanted. When I speak of compassion, empathy or what is right, I speak for him and the power of his spirit. I will speak for the dead because they can't speak for themselves. I speak for him. I am proud to do so.
We didn't always get along because there was only two years between us. I must admit that being the older one did have its privileges. Primarily picking on the younger one is the biggest privilege. I really, really pushed that privilege. Mike had cognitive delay issues as well as a plethora of learning disabilities. His temper was thermonuclear, but it was easy to find his "big red button" and push it. I caused quite a few meltdowns. His brown eyes turned darker brown, his Italian complexion shaded red, his voice became tight and he stuttered. The relationship we had in our youth was natural, but like all things in nature our relationship evolved. When we entered our twenties, we fought no more. We realized that we were the only brothers we had. From there, he became my best friend. I could tell him anything and he could count on me to listen to anything. I had a treasure and I knew it.
I don't remember when the conversation with God happened. After high school graduation I'm sure. I had it all figured out and I was laying out the plan. When I used to speak to God, I didn't bow my head with eyes closed. I always looked up and spoke aloud in a quiet place locked away from the world. The plan was simple: I would die first, then Grandma who was our caregiver and Mike would go last. It was fair, straight and statistically likely. It was my only askance.
Michael went to the hospital in June 2003, one year after having an episode of pneumonia that hospitalized him. He recovered then. I knew he would. I knew. In 2003, I knew he would fight and win again. In 2003, I was wrong. He was gone and ooooooooooooohhhhhh God there was pain. Now, hollowness. Then, rending pain. I WAS SUPPOSED TO GO FIRST. ME. Not him. Me. I was older, weaker and sick more often. Didn't matter. None of it mattered. He was GONE. Taken. Taken from me.
I understand survivor's guilt. I understand it wasn't my fault. Yet I still feel betrayed, cheated and even rage sometimes. He should be writing here and I should be in the next place. It is only fair, but life's not fair. So I live. I move along. There is a caveat, however. A vow I made to myself, the universe and Whoever is listening. I live FOR him. I will speak FOR him. He always trusted me without question. He believed in me, believed in goodness, believed in justice. So, as debt to him, I will live to try to create the world he wanted. When I speak of compassion, empathy or what is right, I speak for him and the power of his spirit. I will speak for the dead because they can't speak for themselves. I speak for him. I am proud to do so.
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