Fat motorcycles, trendy folk and hangers on, people pretending they know what the hell they’re doing and making laws between tequila shots, getting married, getting buried, kicking sand a long way from the beach and no art, no God damn art, unless you think its therapeutic and then we’re all artists. I hear thunder in the air. It could be a storm, one of those interruptive downpours, or it could be Armageddon. You know, reality come to crash the party. ♠
Rhapsody In Blue
When I was a boy, I listened to this song. You cannot hear it now, I know. There are a lot of songs you can’t hear anymore. The Song of Roland; the song of my heart when first we kissed, the Song of Bernadette. No, I never kissed her; the song of half a dozen guys pulling all along a rope at the same time. All together now. No, you never heard those songs, but I heard them and my heart still thrills. I hum them. “I’ve got a gal that’s mighty sweet.” Here’s another. “Oh Mary, Mary you wicked girl, what are you doing in this desperate world? You’ll ruin your fame and fortune too, by playing on your,” the way my grandfather taught me. We used to sit there fishing and I’d take a puff of his cigarette. You should have heard grandma, “Jack,” she’d say, “what are […]
New Glory
Stop asking as though you had a right to anything but the chance to keep trying. Stop complaining. Stop planning to retire and give thanks for the job. Invent some way to make life better for anyone but yourself. Tell fools the truth. Fight only to the death. Live beyond your means in love until you no longer fear love. Be yourself until you forget how, then go back to class. Turn off all the screens and look around. Keep looking and never substitute media for real life again or text for an embrace or handshake or face to face. Talk to people. Listen to them. Honor the dead. Listen to them too and tell the unborn how much you love them by preparing your world to receive them. Quit the stage with honor and bow to the applause. If there is no applause, wait for a better audience during the encore. Unlock […]
Half Staff
I’ve just about lost count, haven’t you? Who is it this time? How many shot dead and duly recognized? I’ll tell you what it means if it means anything at all, Old Glory in decline, the lowering of all we held sacred until the banner never meant to fall itself lies useless, lifeless on the pavement. What will we do then? Will our thoughts and prayers that couldn’t keep it up avail to raise it up again? Will we who wouldn’t pull with all our might to make it fly stoop to pick it up or merely wonder why it droops so low again? I’ll tell you why. I’ll tell you what I think if it means anything at all. The white is for cowardice. The red is the blood of innocence. Blue is for wishful thinking and the stars all live in Hollywood. ♠