Social Media

You don’t have sixteen thousand five hundred and sixty eight friends. Neither do I. You and I aren’t friends if you need sixteen thousand five hundred and sixty eight strangers between us before you share a word of yours with me or receive a word of mine. It isn’t social. It’s impersonal. If it’s impersonal don’t bother. Don’t waste my time. Alert the media. Tell someone else sixteen thousand five hundred and sixty eight times you care. ♥

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Old Flame ii

What happened to you? The black horn rimmed glasses, the formless striped pullover, the wedding ring I would have thought you’d wear, the weight I see you’ve gained beneath your fidgeting fingers, what happened to you? Why didn’t you tell me? I would have cared. It would have made a difference, because I do, still hold the image of you upon a beach, carving a word or two or three within a heart upon the sand. What happened to you? Even if you could not stop the tide from going out or in, you might have told me. You might have let me try. ♥

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The Amateurs

It isn’t so much they’ve gerrymandered districts so no one they don’t like can get elected. It isn’t so much they’re willing to indebt taxpayers to insure corporate profitability, and It isn’t so much they’re willing to invalidate or eradicate laws made by the people to protect the people or amend the law to defeat legal objection to corporate ambition, no It isn’t any of that. It’s the people who still think beer and a second helping of potato salad at the game answers everything and its OK for politics to rape democracy so long as we get to watch. But its not. It’s not all right. It’s all wrong. And it isn’t so much we have to do anything about it. Because it’s so wrong the right will brush us aside and take care of everything all by itself, if we do nothing. ♠  

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Song to the Moon

Why will you not come to me. My longing is so great. Does no one hear in this world or in the beyond? What hollow need is left for me to stroke within my soul? What troubled thoughts lie uncomforted? It is not right of You, oh God of love to be so thoughtless in Your will. In this is flame through which I walk enough is more than I can stand. Unsinged I wish that I had been incinerated. ♥

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Maori

There is a legend. it is not of the Bible, yet it is Scriptural. It is told, not written, yet I write it now. There needs to be such stories. Listen. In the old days or perhaps they were young and ours are old, a people set out by canoe from their land New Zealand. Then it had another name, but names change. They ventured forth into the unknown and it is one thousand five hundred miles to Fiji. They could not have known another three thousand two hundred miles lay between them and Hawaii and another two thousand eight hundred to Alaska, but that is why you find Maori in Alaska, because they sailed seven thousand five hundred miles by open faith. How many miles lie before you and I we do not know, but if because we do not know we do not care, because we are afraid we […]

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Where Uncle Sam Is Buried

I went to a meeting. They read a letter. A member of the club went to the American Cemetery outside Manila to find the grave of his uncle. They found the grave and wrote a letter addressed to the club. It told of a twenty-three year old soldier in World War Two, captured on the Bataan Peninsula and led on the Death March without food or water who died of malaria in a concentration camp and never came home to Wisconsin. The family brought home word half a world and over half a century later. The old man who read the letter almost wept and the room fell silent as everyone realized but didn’t want to say they feared despite the sacrifice of a young soldier named Sam and all his comrades in the swamps and steaming jungles of a place so far away, that Uncle Sam has died and […]

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Authenticity

It isn’t for everyone. Some people spend lots of money and it isn’t for sale. In fact, you get it when you can’t afford it and walk away. That starts the process, the long, slow grind of authenticity. When you come back with the money and you still can’t afford it because the price has gone up, that’s more authenticity. When they won’t sell it to you because they don’t like the way you look or smell that’s authenticity, but they’ll never say, because they’re too smart and they assume you’re too dumb to know the difference. They don’t want you to be authentic. They want you to go away. But if you persist, if you don’t give up, if you try with all your might you can beat them and remain authentic, now that you’ve gone to all the trouble of telling them to go to hell authentically. ♥

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The War Party

“What does it stand for?” a woman asked. “It sounds aggressive.” “It is aggressive,” I replied. “It stands for agression against those who started this war.” ♠ The War Party believes all public elections should be conducted by paper ballot only, whether at the polls, or absentee by surface mail. Electronic intrusion in the election process should be held to an absolute minimum. It’s common sense. Salesmanship of computerized election devices or software has no place in the fundamental process of free elections, any more than computers would be welcome in the performance of a wedding or a funeral. Computers and their programs can be hacked. They can by thwarted. They can be rigged. If we invite the violation of our elections by computerization, we have no one to blame but ourselves when thieves, saboteurs and enemies take advantage of our stupidity. ♠ The War Party stands for a suspension of all new highway construction […]

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You’re Safe

There are so many beautiful sounds in the night. There are so many lights in the darkness. So much love fits into the universe of which the universe is only a part. Yes we are dust and to dust we shall return, but we are for now alive and life is the dust of love. ♥

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Door of Life

The door to my office is a door of life. It opens for me because it is never locked. I open it and close it at will. Today as I reach out and open it again I step into a different world. Macaws cry piercing the tepid air with their shrill screams of indignation at my presence leading an expedition fighting our way back from the torrid zones of discovering the world’s largest diamond embedded in the jagged rocks of Optimisto Thule, pulsing volcano of legend, never conquered by any soul alive to tell the tale. Return is problematic. My men fear. The porters descend to mere hysteria, but I am sure, the words of my mother’s favorite poem etched upon my heart, ‘I am the master of my fate,’ quoth she. Yesterday we sailed for Cowabonga on the tide, headed home a hold full of spices, silks and statuary, the […]

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