The Crazymaker 

 Afterall the fatique despues 

the visions blended from 

a myriad of testaments 

and still after that 

but in the before 

where a silent witness 

that is me and not me 

because you said so, 

I look entirely different 

frowning and sluggish 

more barren than Zahkariah's woman 

perched near a stove 

and her dirty floors, 

no one knows this pain 

quite like I do. Not a soul 

but the before me knows 

anything at all has happened 

between the many days 

that measure the building 

of the pyramid 

where entombed is my heart 

still beating 

down there in the dark 

but just barely.

People ask for prayers all the time and I am not sure what it is they are asking for, prayers or prayers. Kneeling or standing, to ward off evil or speed it up and pass it by. One is in surgery the other is a child with an agressive form of November on Otis road out by the cranes. Cranes never die or if they do their bodies are strung so far and wide we don't see them. As it is in life when we don't look too close to notice or hear the leaves rustling one by one but instead, in a group yet they all go in one direction. Prayers up! they say and I wonder where is the up they mention, the proximal or distal? Do they still want to stop it and why don't they know what it is that they want? Otis stayed alone for four days without water or food looking toward the door, waiting for Claire to come back in. We all wait for that and fear the exception while existing in an exception, the one leaf that occasionally breaks free, walks out that door and does not return. Pray for the door to open or close? The light is on at the neighbor's house where she is getting ready to go but much slower than anticipated. He is up there hiding his daughter and wife because he bludgeoned too many of us on the way up his lonely hill. He never asks for prayers, some never do. It is too late to pray they think, easier to install a grab bar and night light. The Parable of the Tardigrade All the moments fit together like a jigsaw puzzle and there is no use wondering if the detective understands this or not as long as he knows where the edges are, the straight ones. The ones that line up and constrain the rest of it when in reality the big picture is fractal and this the prophets knew as well as Borges. The kind detective practices feng shui and asks for dates and times, when was the last time you saw the victim, talked to the victim...as if people keep notes up on their fridge that say, you saved my leg thank you very much like I do. All these puzzles are set upon table after table extending as far as the eye can see but the detective is on his own surface as well as am I. Once the wind blows it tears down the tin roofs out in the valley, rips then to shreds and scatters them upon the desert floor and we all start over to reassemble, to gather our things into some kind of order. But nay! I swear by the sunset redness,and this too: And when the heaven is rent asunder, and then becomes red like red hide, I dropped the ball. It was too hot to hold much longer than a did. A bolt of lightning can only be held for so long. Nothing more than a stray laser in the cosmos on a journey with the rest of them, walking like ants in self similar lines into self similar tunnels. The ants and Otis know the killers and accept the killing but for some reason, we humans don't get it. Yet. We will one day but for now we toil over the puzzles, ask questions and form conclusions. The KP index was high that day and there will be a time in the future when we'll know when to warn again. As did the aboriginals. For now though, we are just getting this machine up and running with low level contraptions that used to bring water to the surface for cows. Not much progress but when you realize the thing is already running, it isn't about starting or stopping it, not at all. It lingers in the mean, the mode and the meridian at midnight.

One needs to start somewhere. It has to have a beginning. Like Adam and then Eve, a clear concise beginning. Things however, have many beginnings, they do not comply to the standards of a prototype as old as mankind itself. I think, "Otis was alone for four days in an efficiency apartment." That's a good place and I say to the couple across from me in Ray's living room, "I buried him up there on High Lonesome." They said their old dog was on the shelf in their living room, most likely in their manufactured home on some property and in the middle of nowhere. It begins there too. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. I caught a snippet from them of their blind son, like getting a whole cold from a little breath from a stranger on a train. On the way home, driving past High Lonesome, I have a feeling that...no...not a feeling. It's more than a feeling because those are subjective. It's a fact and now I know it, it is considered knowledge. The fact is (and when people say that, it is considered knowledge and aspires to become common knowledge)..the fact is, people want you to know what is going on. They start to allude to a bit of this and a bit of that. They hope you will catch on and offer them a bit of your energy to something they have obviously worked quite hard on. Hard work to understand it, to accept it, to share it, whatever. It is an offering, it is an act of special charity going both ways. They don't always flag it like you would in a study guide but the way they interject it almost too casually in even smaller talk, they absolutely want you to know: our son is blind. There's a reason for that. It all boils down to ashes to ashes, dust to dust. It's on their mind. Constantly. As Otis is, on my mind. That's his real name but the other names now, will all be false. They don't matter in the simulation. They just don't. He's the pin on the board, he is the road out west near High Lonesome. He's the bones in my garage that I found outside that one's final place of rest. All very good coordinates on the map. I counted the miles from the shallow grave on the odometer, six. I still remember, it was six miles not counting the short distance to the highway. I'm sure all murderers (for lack of a better word here) do the same thing when concealing their crimes. They mark and measure, they often return and they take mementos. Let's restart it there. Mementos. I saw mementos in Paris. We'd been held up there overnight because of a delayed flight between Paris and DC. I was still drinking then or rather, I restarted to drink after a week of being dry. I'd cut my wrists in Paris and they glowed in the dark at the Smithsonian under the black lights there and several days after the stone-cold adventure at the Muséum National d'histoire naturelle where we took a picture of a skeleton belonging to Siamese Twins who were joined at the heart, where we all are joined but are seldom as acutely aware of it as I was then. We take mementos, we mark our stories and sometimes we say, "This is it, everything goes on from there." But it doesn't really except in rare cases like Adam and Eve and that is because a story, an important story must start somewhere. We as a species, a whole group of related things that share proteins comprised of code made out of 21 amino acids are so specific as to type as to have our own "species", our species has such a regard for death that even our murderers need to retain a memento of the death and it occurred to me while in a state of shock over Otis' solitude for those four days, that perhaps the death sequence creates a heightened state of awareness in the continuously breathing souls that remain behind, that the killers get a high off of the event. It's unfortunate that they don't know the real path to the sensation of grief, the one you wait for, knowing one day it will be yours and they'd be better off waiting their turn. Grief is miraculous. Truly miraculous. And it isn't always because there is a death. It could be the anticipated loss of a leg the day before the surgeon starts his saw. The remaining leg even. No legs left to walk on. A Cat Stevens song goes that way, thanks for making me blind so better to ignore you with my dear, says the Big Bad Wolf that consumes the little girls, talk about dark. Let me start somewhere else if it makes it easier. The detectives ask certain questions. You should be ready for that. These are like people who drop casual information about blind sons but before the son went blind. They are like soothsayers and know the son will go blind. But they want to know how. I asked her, the relatives of Otis, "How did he lose his sight?". The professional in me doesn't say, "How did he go blind?" Because he didn't go blind, he didn't go anywhere. He lost something but maybe gained something else. The detective will always ask, "When was the last time you saw such and such or so and so?" It is unnerving. Such a simple thing but it is truly unnerving. You wrack your mind to come up with a reasonable answer because you saw her handwriting the day before yesterday. You saw it right there where you pinned up the card. Or you talked to her last April or May and avoided talking to her because it would have been too long of a conversation. In this case, you knew if she was dead, there'd be no point in calling but if she wasn't, it would be a long ordeal and late in the night, you had to choose otherwise. I did and I said so. Honesty is always important but never more so in a death investigation which is where we are now on the map. Next to High Lonesome where his bones were retreived many years ago and above the fridge door where the last bit of Clair's DNA might lurk, I'm not good at names but Clair is a nice one and her real name was nice. An old name, one that I like alot because I've known some with that name. Not that their name made them nice but their name gave off a nice aroma like certain flowers do, a powerful one that cannot be mistaken for anything but that kind of flower. This is a Clair, this is a Henry. That one over there is a Mister Ham. Mister Hams are great because they live next door to everyone. Clair lived next door and underneath two other apartments, beside a tennis court and next to a place where my own child lived for a short bit of time. She lived close to where she was found. I studied her pretty well. I study them all pretty well. You have to. They want you to. It makes it easier than having to drop all those hints and answer long questions when they are feeling poor. I learned how to skip over and return to things like a detective. That's how I know how they think. Detection is human nature but most of us ignore it because when we detect, we must do more work to investigate and that is time consuming. Below most of our payscales.

Bona Adnuntiatio By the time you realize it is too early it is too late, the weather is getting cold already, the predictions are neither clear nor correct. The prophet did not mention the procedure to follow for ants yet, with flies it is permissible to scoop and continue to consume. This medium was never mentioned, the recipe for one thing is edited and secrets are lost in the stroke of things called keys so become myths and then, legends. An old poet is found wandering in the parking lot and found the next day buried in snow five years before when passers-by who enforce the laws saw beacons of his light, it is true yet if none of this makes sense it doesn't have to, the 'is it' and 'what is it' question pervails. To exist at once in matrixes is an acceptable plural form, but you can use matrices if you want to show off your knowledge of Latin noun endings it says so right there in revelations. In that moment she stopped a rapist from raping at least for a while but the memory belongs to them, a sad little couple in time is a fact that stuns her to this day, the day a man over there felt ill and died before the shock was delivered inside the maze all the hearts broke, they broke at once like thunder and then lightning, yes like thunder and then, lightning and I know each of them as We awaken, without knowing their names, the day opens with a gasp, a swoon, an Oh-No.

Bona Adnuntiatio By the time you realize it is too early it is too late, the weather is getting cold already, the predictions are neither clear nor corect. The prophet did not mention the procedure to follow for ants yet, with flies it is permissible to scoop and continue to consume. This medium was never mentioned, the recipe for one thing is edited and secrets are lost in the stroke of things called keys so become myths and then, legends. An old poet is found wandering in the parking lot and found the next day buried in snow five years before when passers-by who enforce the laws saw beacons of his light, it is true yet if none of this makes sense it doesn't have to, the 'is it' and 'what is it' question pervails. To exist at once in matrixes is an acceptable plural form, but you can use matrices if you want to show off your knowledge of Latin noun endings it says so right there in revelations. In that moment she stopped a rapist from raping at least for a while but the memory belongs to them, a sad little couple in time is a fact that stuns her to this day, the day a man over there felt ill and died before the shock was delivered inside the maze all the hearts broke, they broke at once like thunder and then lightning, yes like thunder and then, lightning and I know each of them as they awaken, without knowing their names, the day opens with a gasp, a swoon, an Oh No.

You hope to blame it on the barking dog, not the one you saw in the afterboon gnawing a bone or sleeping even though it was in the same location from where the miserable 3 am sound comes. No, not that dog. There are exactly as many Alis as there are dogs and times of the day in this particular village. Not a town which is another class of things with specific characteristics like running water, stop signs and its own school bus. Yes, Jesus did walk here and it ought to come to mind at least once or twice a day but it doesn't, not to anyoneAs lost as everyone is in their current troubles be it an overturned car on the way or lack of an egg, each particular hardship a little worse or a little better, each one marking a path to a greater apathy. This Ali always sits in the last chair near the edge of the balcony and never looks directly at anyone or anything else. His cigarette is always nearly finished,smoked clear down to the tiups of his finger. Not a single one ever needs be stubbed. He leans outward as if made that way in his mother's womb, anxious to travel but not the sort one does for petty enjoyment. His own mother prays for his departure and you hope to blame this sleeplessness on the barking dog whose image doubles and triples through a cone-shaped prism the kind a child struggles to reach and buried in a box of other useless but interesting things yet forgets as soon as they get it, forgetting the struggle almost at once in the mystery of weath

 You'll walk a long long way in the dark

without me, despite me.  You'll take charge

of the gold and diamonds, the dead checks,

pictures and the emergency supplies.

I'm not the easy answer anymore, 

not the num-chuk or the plastic pants.

By this time next year, your tears will dry.

You will walk up to the house 

one last time and see it for just a moment

the way it was and will be forever more.

Take heed, you'll rewrite this poem.

Active

Meg Swaid

g153a0h2l22nf3hocd  · 

Shared with James Wahl, Bisbee Bodega, Ali Sowid, Mohamed Mohsen, Fatima Louise and 1 other

Easter in the Quran. "Not even water." -on a Tshirt

Say what? Yes, Easter is in the Quran. We don't really celebrate it 'as such' but few people really do. I think of all the Christian holidays, Easter is subject to the most scrutiny in terms of secular versus sacred practices by the Christians themselves. In reality, the two high holy-days though are both just as fraught with the impingement of secular and pagan concerns as the other. Easter as a worldwide event is nearly gone though and in that it is different than Christmas which shows little signs of going away although some might be trying pretty hard to get it removed from the queue.

When I was growing up, Lent was a great time. We anticipated Easter almost as much as we did Christmas. I personally loved to go to church, with or without my mom (my dad seldom went to church save for big occasions). How lucky we were to attend St. Patricks and who wouldn't be enchanted at the monumental altar there. We got our ashes on the first day. We dutifully abstained from eating meat on Friday as was the norm back then. We each received a card that had forty slots in it and were expected to tithe a dime each day of Lent and happily place it in the collection basket on Easter Sunday, $4 of our own hard earned kid cash. We shopped diligently during Lent for our Easter clothing (just like muslim children who also get a brand new set of clothes to celebrate the end of fasting on Eid). Collection baskets were carried around by two men of the church that were on the end of long broomstick like handles that reached into the pews on either side. My mom would usually write a check and hand it to one of us to put it in there. We'd leave the church at the end of each service and hope very hard to be able to greet Father Padilla as he waited outside the front doors in the Sunday light like a rock star. If I were a painter, I'd paint that.

There's a reason I am here now and feel the way I feel about Ramadan. It is absolutely related and this year our fasting coincides with Lent to a certain degree (next year it will fall totally within Lent's boundaries). I wonder at children now who are given no religious education....it is not a good thing. I mean, even for athiests, how can you reject something you know nothing about? Perhaps a grown up first-gen athiest knows what they are rejecting but their children likely do not because that old addage of fruit not falling far from the tree is absolutely demonstrable in the nature versus nurture arena. And we are probably way beyond first-gen athiesm as it has existed from day one, Cane versus Abel. Not to mention the people who just don't care and live in a state of ignoring the important historical facts of the matter. We indeed have bred a generation born into ignorance. Is it any wonder society is now falling apart at the seams? It isn't just here in the US folks, it is everywhere now. People are struggling psychologically. Problem is, so many people believe too much religion is the cause but if that was the case, since religion is actually on the decline overall and problems increasing, what's the excuse? I assure you, humanity is much less religious than it was when I was a kid. I defy you to disagree with me.

So...what does the Quran have to say about Easter? I am sure it is surprising to some, even some muslims that it even does....because although many muslims worldwide have given into Christian Christmas, very few indeed follow along with the Easter Bunny fun. It's actually a bit more controversial than buying a few ugly Christmas sweaters or putting up a little tree. I suppose it has to do with how the resurrection occurred versus the 'if' it occurred (Christians say he died, we say he didn't and is literally, still alive somewhere outside of our purview). The Quran does though relegate the main discussion of Easter to a very, very important position in terms of when it was 'revealed'. The Quran, in case you don't know, is numbered in chapters 1-114 however those are not arranged in order of their transcription. After all the chapters were orated, the actual order of them was then dictated. Easter and what is known as the Last Supper is actually given its very own chapter called "The Dinner Table" (Al Maeda) and additionally, it is so important that it was literally the final chapter ever 'received' by the Messenger. (I won't get too much into the significance of this final and critical assertion concerning Islam/sectarian issues here, maybe on another day.). So Islam doesn't deny Easter as such, it clarifies the major crisis the departure of Jesus, SA caused and continues to cause until this day.

This final chapter of the Quran says it is the final one. Just like Mohamed, SA says he is the final Messenger/prophet. It is not fuzzy or unclear and it is not like any other Abrahamic statement all the way back to the Garden of Eden issues. In no uncertain terms even though it is #5 in textural order, the Quran relates that this is the final statement to the final messenger in the final book, the apex of all of it since the beginning of 'known' human storytelling for lack of a better word for 'this paradigm' we find ourselves solidly in now. "This day have I perfected for you your religion and completed My favor on you and chosen for you Islam as a religion." It is a relatively famous line even amongst detractors and Islamophobes. Newsflash, it is not "you" as in already in the fold Muslims. It is the "you" called "all of humanity henceforth" you. That you.

This is where it gets a little sticky.....for some. For the easily annoyed, the brainwashed, the ill-intended and well....for anyone who has an undue amount of belief that a few simple words will manage to suffice as a 'get out of jail free card' even for mortal sins like adultery, murder, burglary and most importantly, idolatry. Believe it or not, idolatry is worse than murder because murder is forgivable but idolatry/polytheism turns out, is not. Yikes.

The Last Supper chapter discusses a great many things about the final and problematic issues of the next to last prophet, Jesus Christ who we know is called Isa, SA, son of Miriam, pbuh. This chapter reveals* the last act of Mohamed, SA and describes the last act of Jesus, SA. Not an accident I assure you. It is always the case that in order to understand the "new" information, an example of a previous situation is quite helpful. But it is and must be painful for some. So painful that they reject our information outright. What to do. This is the part that hurts and then I'll get to the actual description of the final act of Jesus, SA (noting that the entire chapter is referring to the 'at the time of the revelation/real time*' final act of Mohamed, SA prior to his death a month or two later which I am not discussing). The Quran relates the following:

"Certainly they disbelieve who say: Surely Allah, He is the Messiah, son of Miriam." IOW, Allah is not "Jesus" a human being. It says, "Certainly they disbelieve who say: Surely Allah is the third (person) of the three." It goes on to say, "And there is no god but the one God." It is very clear and I hope not to offend anyone and the next few verses explain the brotherhood between believers, particularly Christians and Muslims. Of course, this is not the only place in the Quran that this critical issue is described and throughout, it is quite clear and not even a little bit subject to debate in terms of 'real meaning' or the congruency of the assertion throughout the entire 114 chapters, in all Qurans, in all languages. So.

What does it then say about the Last Supper? lt starts at verse 110. It is what we hold to be a 'verbatim' account of what Jesus, SA was actually commanded to do. It starts with a reminder (TO Jesus, SA) about his own ability to orate in the cradle all the way to old age. It reminds Jesus, SA about Allah teaching him (via Gibreel I assume) the entire Torah and then, the Injeel (which is not known to exist in print now or maybe ever as oration was the means of communication in times when printing did not exist). It relates that Allah reminded Jesus, SA about the miracles (clay bird, healing the blind/lepers and raising the dead) performed by Jesus, SA. And finally, Allah reminds Jesus, SA that he protected him from death from his adversaries. IOW, Allah tells Jesus, SA, don't worry about these people that hope to kill you. I'd say that's a big tip off to the quality of our data on the matter.

And then, it gets to his Companions. Oh dear. The companions is where things always go astray. Because not all companions are created equal. And some companions, even those trailing behind Mohamed, SA continued to doubt all the way to the bitter end. And beyond for some of the most notorious. These types have always been the bane of Monotheists since Cane and Abel. Yes, those two early-in-the-paradigm brothers appear in this chapter because of the clear presence of believer vs disbeliever allegory prevalent throughout Al Maeda/Last Supper.

These companions of Jesus, SA (known as 'disciples') wanted one last piece of proof (raising corpses and curing blindness was not enough so that ought to tell you something right there) that Jesus, SA was legit. So they asked for a big dinner. "Food from heaven" which I suppose is a traditional means for cementing faith from the days of Manna and Moses, SA. They said, "O Isa, son of Marium! will your Lord consent to send down to us food from heaven?" Mind you, some folks differed all the way back to the days of Moses, SA in terms of 'faith' too and those Hebrews split off into two sects right after Moses, SA went up to the mountain. As far as I can tell, they are still split over the Golden calf false idol imbroglio. And that event was literally caused by one and only one bad apple (who may have repented)..his name was Samiri.

So, Jesus, SA then prays to Allah to send down a meal that will be "an ever recurring happiness, to the first and the last of us and a sign". So. Allah then said to Jesus, SA "Surely I will send it down to you, But whoever shall disbelieve afterwards from among you, surely I will chastise him with a chastisement with which I will not chastise anyone among the nations. And when I (Allah) will say: O Isa son of Marium! did you say to men, Take me and my mother for two gods besides Allah?" ...it then returns to Jesus, SA response to that "Glory be to THEE(not me as in me Jesus, SA), it did not befit me that I should say what I had no right to say.

In a nutshell. Many of us know that Jesus was then betrayed however this betrayal is a confused issue in the known texts written by these same witnesses who betrayed him. Not all of them but certainly, the ones who betrayed are the ones who violated everything I have explained to you here....perhaps some out of good intentions or misunderstanding. Who knows really and it doesn't really matter in terms of what a person does and believes right now. All of this merely cements the knowledge and how the lack of it has resulted in a lot of bad data leading to bad behaviors in all the world. Sure, Jesus, SA loves you and I for one loved that guy so much while I sat up there at St. Pat's in my Sunday dresses that I absolutely needed to know how to find him again at the next opportunity. Which I know one day will occur. Sooner or later and the way time flows forward all the time, sooner is much sooner than later. Peace.

https://youtu.be/wPC9tAZwVck

 https://twitter.com/ggreenwald/status/1505168427350175751?s=20&t=qtAuZQ6qH5z3mwhNaYfF2A

 Jack & Fish

Everything happened suddenly, Jack surprised.
Jack? Jack surprised. Jack handsome.
Jack in the front seat, Jack driving.
Jack like father, Jack like Grandfather.
Jack like all Jacks. Jack of all trades
and Jack of all exiles. Jack of the St. Louis Arches.
Jack of hippy-hiking across the land of Jacks.
Jack of Sailor Suits. Jack of smiles.
Jack. Just Jack that day at Tonto.

How did she catch that? Jack said.
No one knew. As big as her arm. As long as her pony.
Her two ponies, Apaloosa and Pinto. Those
ones they all dream of at certain times.
Come here little fishes. She said come here
little fishes, big ones too. I'll get rid of you!
Or, I'll let you go, or you will swim away.
But for now, I'll catch and pull you in.
Jack pulled it in. Jack sliced 

through the trouty guts
with his Jack Knife. Jack, just jack all over.

 Poetry sucks

I guess I wanted to work again, showed up a bit late

knowing of course that my years of experience

would account for my greatness of attitude

versus the shortage of wit and rancor.

Want to be my muse Ben?  Want to try my tropes?

Or is it just the young hula hoopers and vloggers now?

We are all Instagram, we must all digress

in this disgusting language of the trying so hard to be important,

trying so hard to change what cannot be changed crew.

I guess I wanted to work again, showed up a bit late,

changed nothing, quit early and walked out of the meeting.

Nothing matters because nothing changes.

Which bed will we die in or will it be on a roadside

between a worn out tire and a biodegradable bag?

 Found in a pile...

The Bone Box

She took a token

of herself from the area

began thumbing through 

some of the pages

There is nonsense 

in the eyes of the dead

ad the beautiful problems

of the living never go away.

Phones, crickets, these

special papers and flames

eyes nose mouth teeth

ears cheeks hair

babies. Our babies

when we teach our babies

about this

in our bone box

we find flames and babies.

The names we learned

when our name was only

Adam, only Eve.

My favorite memory 

is in this bone box

with the cats and dogs

on the stairs

when I first heard

widow maker

near the hospital windows

plucking the berries

out of the pyracanthus

tree to place in a pocket

for later study

when every part 

in the assembly

pointed up or had been

counted but still,

there was no goodbye.

...no clue at all what this is about.

When you're not the hero anymore/We thought we'd be feminists for a while -It would take more than a lightning-stroke To create such a ruin. Sylvia Plath, The Colossus We all have that one shot. Without exception, we frame those wicked shop window heads and reflections and click. Most of us however, do not run out and hang ourself in a museum. Even if it is in Prague. This is not a poem, this is a fact. They blame it on one minor thing or another...a fender bender last summer, a broken tooth, nerve damage. No one says much for a very long time although they want to. No one points out the misery in the faces in the pictures. It's all set to music now. Over dressed mannequins shuffled like cards in a deck, Susie in spandex, Su Lin in red chiffon, Penelope in leopard skin replete with boa and Susie in mock drag holding a stuffed animal, Sue Lin in a red bikini, Penelope in bra and panties, some girl we can't remember in a skeleton costume, on and on like that. Picture after picture, shuffled, slide after slide and then, wicked shop window heads and reflections, shuffled with a bit more lighting, night club shots in the girls room shuffled with capitalism's witty detritus here and there and lakeside, little puddles, girls pretending not to be sex objects but pout posing all the same, standard emo pinup, no pick up lines here. Living in the shadow of her Colossus but trying to ignore it. We do not however hang ourself in a museum. We try to be a little happier because no one has had their mastectomy yet.

Ode to Upchurch Mobil Bud had all boys across from the Whitehead furniture store as Pegasus left to deliver lightning as we stopped to fuel the Impala. I didn't know then what I know now, and we trusted all those boys of his not to jerk us around. They shoulda known better. Dad signed a slip and moved on, drunk or not, you all moved on lunging left and right pulling out and pulling in to the Hitching Post next door with a real one right out front. Patio orange for the kids, blood and bar towels for the rest. All those ponies and Medusa riding shotgun, near the wheel.

 For anyone who actually still remembers Carmen, Lilac Cotton and the like, this blog is exceptionally long, political and honest.  It does not reflect my current views or other views of people I know, necessarily.  However it might.  Anyhows.  Currently I am in the process of deciding whether or not to kill it forever after engaging in a massive archival process.  Forty plus years of poetry and this is just a smidgeon of what there is to archive.  Ugh.

Avoid the fall by missing the jump...refers to the notion of dream falling and how it is said that if you do fall and land, you'll die in your sleep.  Wow, just wow.  If this wasn't prophetic, I don't know what is, was or will be.  Geez.  So the person was saved from the Liberian....by a dream so this is a dream within another dream that was also recorded so that when the actual sky dive took place, that dream of the taxi ride through the Ouzai to save a certain son for the price of 20 bucks played a pivotal role.  This dream on the other hand...was unexamined at that time.  I return to it now and am blown away.

The Twisting Sleeps

Edna stated once as she sat
in the semicircular booth
at Sambo's drinking a cup of tea:
you don't want to dream anymore.
She meant, when you are old or wise
or like me, you get to that point.

After the hounds of Ha'wab they sent
a small envoy and then a second, how
many more would come into the fray,
how many more loose ends to tie up?
There are no reasons for these recurrent
troubles, recurrent themes. There
is no reason to be forced into para-
trooping fresh out of the boot camp
of dreams where the mess is
full of ice cream machines bowling alleys
and - Las Vegas lighting.
There is no reason for the envoy
to be buying trinkets to take home
(standing there as they did once before)
and certainly no reason the bus
accelerated like an F-15 but mostly,
there was no reason for the envoy
to pay a second visit at the end
to remind the dreamer there would be
no helmut nor any special lace-ups
for one of the jumpers. Sri Lanka
or wherever we would be landing
is certainly a jungle of the worst type
and we drove by the best forests on our way,
green and dry, beds of needles, familiar.
One last look before you head off.
It is the woman from Liberia who keeps
everything from descending. It is her lost
son and the memory of her slavery
which saves. Blink, wake up, get out.
Avoid the fall by missing the jump.

The Random

I've known some really famous people. I am not sure which who is the most famous but perhaps it is the one not yet and this, yes this, keeps me humble. It might be you or him or that one over there. It matters not. I'm in the olives now, thick in the olives and the pre winter, the knowledge that this might be my last one hurries me to finish, twist tight the last cap of this year's. Sealing up time like that and how about this...one of hers (full of old pasta) contained the odors of her home, the cat boxes, houseplants, old cheeses, forgotten shoes. It hit me like the lights do at dusk sometimes when they tell you, Galway Kinnell-style, it's time to go. I just stood there, fascinated and repulsed by the air in that jar. Since then I am careful not to tighten anything up too soon. I'm rather careful about locking doors, hiding valuables. I remind the children over and over to check into the book jackets, to take only what is theirs. I am not sure which who it is but indeed, it might be me. Oh sure they say, it is because you ran into so and so and they set you straight. As if these accidents are accidental.

 The Caylee Reason

"I praise Thee, Father

Lord of the heaven and earth

that Thou didst hide these things

from the wise and prudent,

and didst reveal them to the little ones."

-Matthew xi: 25

Man was created

anyway

This lip, that tooth

the swelling

in vestibule, in cognito

eye socket, stapes

No intervention

necessary.

Cone-shaped Time

in her mix-matched

funnel-like diagram:

anomaly, pear shaped

clot with buds

and beats.

Outrageous disclosures

in a vacuum, the statement

found in the shoe.

x-------mitochondria

o-------nucleus

)-------cell wall

Man was created

anyway.

Beside the flat

shadow

where the Moon runs

in her orbit

our planet folds

like batter

into cyclones and flurry.

Shaken and pegged

the sea not enough

nor the sky up to its limit.

Man was created

anyway.

To look, to find.

And no where to hide

when the death angel

comes around, when the guardians

of the hell fire throw souls in,

when stashing the body

of a baby in the swamps,

"do what you like"

said the Imam

to the questioner

who hoped for a little admonition,

"do what you like

and tell the angel of death

to go away and tell the guardians

of hell to go away

and "do what you like"

women in frigidaires and the

several feet that keep

washing up on the shores

of Biscayne Bay and that

girl in a trunk, her dress,

what was left of her

floating in the Gulf of Mexico

and this just in:

"Where she used to bury her pets."

"Silent Night" by Simon and Garfunkel.

The meter reader tries to claim

the reward. He actually wants

the money for the revelation.

For the bag of baby parts,

duct tape on the lips and a heart sticker.

A canonization of personal effects.

Some of us knew the bones were right

where the Lord had left them.

We know where all the run-aways are.

St Therese of Lisieux and the little way

patroness of the tubercular.

No one really knows why.

"The victim was found sitting upright in a patent leather chair, traces of cocaine on the desk, and suffering from what police only describe as a Cuban Necktie. "

The Vince Foster palate syndrome

is all over town.

Man was created

anyway.

To gawk and gasp

over her bones

and articles, the things

in her lungs and stomach:

applesauce and onions.

How could she!

How could he!

Try to bury

the napthas of her soul

like that.

Man was only created

anyway.

 Ode to the Wolf Pack

It was about the walk in beauty 

episode, the way past sorry

we are closed down near where

the down near where

between buildings up stairs

in the twilight before the gods died

but just barely,

the twilight of the twilight.

We only go to bookshelves now

to look for the dust of his ghost.

 Happy Fourth of July (almost)

Here's the thing.  About religion.  About Holi-days.  About where we are now as a collection of others who just happen to be born between here...and...there.  A dotted line separates the states and a solid one, nations.  They wouldn't even exist if it weren't for someone one day, a very long, long time ago having a great idea:  the Nation State.  Which was designed by Divine Right distributed by a Divine Entity.  Flash forward to the United States of America.  We got it right alright.  We did it all correctly by removing the Divine from the Rights part and did so on the basis of a few good men who supposedly liked the idea of a Creator enough but just didn't want to get the Creator involved in things that weren't, ?, his "business"...like ownership.  They developed a format that is best described by a Quran thumping academic muslim (I kind of am) as a Polytheistic Nation.  <it won't work either btw....people need 'instructions' you know.  On how to operate and well, there aren't good instructions when it comes to handling these "holi-day" things.  

It gets to the point that those naughty little ideas behind these holi-days start creeping in.  Wait a minute...weren't they already here?  Yes by gum, they were.  They were placed there on a map created to celebrate remnants of yet other holi-times from even further back...this map is called a calendar.  The west uses the most reliable time map of all...solar.  It doesn't vary much at all from year to year and is adjusted by the 6 hour deficit every 4 years and is, entirely secular.  Like it or not and regardless of who you think founded the USA and what their religious preferences were.  

We hard core advocates of time on a much larger scale (the beginning to end scale aka monotheistic creationists) use the lunar.  The Jews are like us although their Time Map is linked to the Metonic cycle (both lunar and solar/19 years long) and historical knowledge of Space Time....an even bigger clock which most likely has roots in what some of us refer to as Milankovich cycles (oh dear, way, way, way out of the scope of this brief explanation on why the 4th of July Parade here in Bisbee AZ is now going to be passing by my house at a much more reasonable hour versus the scorchingly hot 1200 that it used to).

Now why on earth did something called the Rotary Club decide that for the City of Bisbee to get along well with the numerous churches along the parade's pathway they hoped to move the July 4th parade this year from a Sunday to a Monday (what on earth is the Rotary Club...doesn't that have something to do with the advent of Tang and the faked moon landing?)?    Go here and get the new Soros vision:  https://www.rotary.org/en/about-rotary  

It nearly caused a civil war in this town.  Bisbee Arizona IS the Fourth of July.  It is our own personal holi-day.  The kind of day that, blessed be (as the Wiccans say), brings us all home to our kin folk.  It is magical and gosh, puts even the Shinto worshippers of ancestry to shame.  Before I go too far though.....let me tell you why I found this controversy so ridiculous.  It's gonna hurt some but indeed, I hope it helps some to make sense of why the Time Map is going to change the world regardless of what any of us thinks about saying Merry Christmas versus them toppling another statue of some long dead Confederate soldier or Cristobal Columbus.  The Time Map is way more important than the average American Polytheist grasps (yes, America is a Polytheist nation...don't bother to argue with me over that one, you'll lose).

That anyone would think that a church or even a collection of churches (none of those nasty synagogues or mosques in my neighborhood, no sirree) might have a problem with a purely secular parade (is it really a secular holi-day now that you have raised your consciousness a few more degrees?) interfering with, prayer times?  Huh?  Wait a minute.  You mean....no I wouldn't say that.  No....or would I?

Christians do not have prayer times.  Sure, they like to congregate on Sundays but that is a formality, a pagan one (yikes).  I truly hope none of them feel that Church is required 'as such' on a Sunday.  It isn't.  Not even according to their own books (luckily that info has been preserved very well by their forefathers known as the Jews).  Technically speaking....the Sabbath is on Saturday.  It was the Emperor Constantine that issues this edict:  "All judges and city people and the craftsmen shall rest upon the venerable day of the sun. Country people, however, may freely attend to the cultivation of the fields, because it frequently happens that no other days are better adapted for planting the grain in the furrows or the vines in trenches. So that the advantage given by heavenly providence may not for the occasion of a short time perish."

It was literally a FDR move way back before any of us was even a twinkle in the eye of our Etruscan daddies.  Who in the hell do these Bisbee Rotarians think they are anyway?  Geez Louise.  Again, Christians do not have prayer times, they do not have a real Sabbath and they run their show (except for those hold outs at the Roman Catholic diocese who use something called Ordinal Time based on Julian Time which is a very very complicated way of combining fact, fiction, Metonic cycles and solar/lunar intricacies minus the Milankovitch conundrum Aztec time map aside).

Now, truly....don't argue.  If you are a Christian...you do not have proscribed prayer times.  Jews do.  We do.  You don't.  For important reasons that you ought to investigate further.  Also, look into that basic cleansing you do at the front of every Catholic church (no offense intended)...it is your form of ablution because yes, you should.  I mean, be clean to go to church.  All the same, I promise everyone at the Rotary club that reversed this dumb decision they tried to make to be oh so inclusive on the seriously important local Holi-day called the Fourth of July, you did the right thing.  

No one and I mean no one...was going to hang around for an extra day to see a ten minute parade peopled by the nearly defunct Boy Scout troups and Ft. Huachuca honor guard and our dear, dear mayor Ken Budge riding around in someone else's convertible.  No one.  

You almost ruined the single most inclusive and best ever Bisbee Holi-day and maybe just maybe, you need me.  A muslim member to tell you how to avoid ruining Christmas and Thanksgiving too.  It isn't your job so don't do it.