Don't Mind Me Staring At You

So I don't usually use my blog to blog.... because well, that's too cliche and I'm too hipster I suppose.

But lately I've had an.... urge? Inkling? Desire? Thought? Eh, that thing.

To share what's on my mind.

Usually I do this through poetry and such.

But poetry is inaccessible to a lot of people

So here's my new attempt at connecting.

I've been thinking lately about communicating.

Like when two people want to get an idea or concept across.

And the levels we participate in the process

How we have something to say, and we say it and we like to think the other person hears us and then maybe responds.

But that's oversimplifying it and its only when the communication breaks down that we get to see the gears and clockwork running around underneath the normal plastic skin.

And its magnificent to catch a glimpse of.

And its terrifying to think that as a writer I have to recreate that.

Because communication is not just dialogue.

Its the small thinks we say without consciously thinking about it.

When someone sneezes and someone else says "bless you" automatically.

When someone says "thank you" and we automatically reply "you're welcome" or "no problem"

There's a plethora of those kinds of automatic functions that are so automatic that (a) we don't notice them and (b) they are so cliche that we have to gloss over them in writing because they can cause readers to lose interest.

One way I've seen successful writers deal with it is by simply paraphrasing the entire exchange, essentially glossing over the bits we'd gloss over anyway. And using the gloss as a tool for revealing what the narrator or characters view as important about another person.

Which brings us to another element of communication. Perception and Reception.

These two things are what drive the conversation forward and end in either successful communication or misunderstandings (often crucial for a plot as Shakespeare loved to show). But to either create an artificial successful or failed communication still requires that the perceptions of both people need to be somehow hinted at, somehow spelled out without spelling it out.

And the missed reception has to be subtle enough for an audience to catch but not necessarily so obvious that the other party in the conversation ought to see it.

And then there's the multiplicity of meanings that individuals have, their different interpretations and cultural backgrounds informing conversation.

It's all so much and sometimes it feels daunting.

Like how does an artist, a writer, bridge this massive gap that exists between two characters. Sure we spend so much time making them believable that hopefully having two fully formed characters in an elevator dropped form the top of Mt Everest will at least result in some dialogue that's believable.

But....

Sometimes it doesn't. And sometimes the dialogue that comes out is so cliche and eye-rollingly painfull that it almost seems better to create a whole book of mute characters (go ahead, take the idea I don't have room for it right now).

But that is what I've been pondering.

I've decided to watch people talking more.

In bars. On the bus. At work.

How do they communicate.

What do they say? What DON'T they say? How does their nonverbal body language conversation differ from their verbal conversation? How can I incorporate all of these elements in a smooth and fast paced manner that will flow without breaking their ever shortening attention span?

It is difficult.

But then. If it were easy everyone would do it well.

The challenge... and overcoming it.... the journey and arriving at an inn on the way, if not the end, is what makes writing so fulfilling.

So if you catch me staring at you while you're talking to someone else these next few weeks just try to ignore me and no you don't have a piece of sashimi on your face. I'm just watching you like the stalker I am.

Song of the May King

The call rises from the dark forest

Like a flock of ravens disturbed

It wings on the wind like a scream

And settles cold in the veins of every ear

Come away, the end of the year

Come away and celebrate the May King

The song rises with the flicker of flames

The row of candles like fireflies on a string

They weave through tree trunks like pillars

Dark columns of a swart cathedral rebounding

 

Come away and here begins the fear

Come away and bring forth the May King 

The shout is suddenly like a gunshot 

And is followed by silence like a shroud

Like the silence of the cool before a frost

Like the heavy pressure pushing each word down

Come away, children do not draw near

Come away and do not look upon the May King

The drums pound like a heart beat

Like the heavy sudden runs of a convict

Increasing like a symphony reaching a crescendo

Climaxing in sudden beats upon the skins

Come away and listen to what you will hear

Come away and see what they do to the May King

The flowers fall like rain from spring branches

The petals make a carpet for him to tread

The incense is heavy in the air like water

Drowning thought into panic and manic laughter

Come away and join in the frantic dance here

Come away and join hands now with the May King

The knife is made of obsidian 

Black glass that can cut easily through bone

The knife glides fast as a fish in the river

Out of the water, into the air, and then gone

Come away and watch them leer

Come away to the death of the May King 

The blood is crimson upon white blossoms

Speckled paint upon the carpet white

Candles burn beacons in the darkness 

His gurgle dies into the silence of night 

Come away and now let us give our tears

Come away for the gone is the May King 

In silence they take their piecemeal departure

Like ravens biting of pieces of a loaf of bread

Until the small child is left asking so many question

And there is only one answer they will get 

Come away now, for it is all over 

Some day you'll know, when you are May King

Falling Street Song

Fall the pieces
Like the leaves
Like the snowflakes
And the flower petals
That float on the breeze

Fall the shapes
The colors on the wheel
The patterns in the grass
The shadows on the wall
Broken is how we feel

Fall the markers
The place book holders
The binders
The breakers burning
And rise again much older

Fall the phantom
The night terrors
The ghost of yore
The haunting voices
Of our past errors

Fall the wind
Make lack the sails
Driven no more forth
By the fear of winning
Or the salt when we fail

Song for Isimud

He sits in silence with himself
He is the man with two faces
And each looks the other way
And when one turns
So does the other
And it may be impossible
For them to see eye to eye
The one looks down
To the spot on the floor
Between his feet
And thinks about the Lord
waiting below
Who binds the waters
Beneath the earth
And who hovers in the darkness
Over the waters of the Apzu
And he wonders if ever
He'll be summoned again
If ever he'll be called
To tell His stories again
And he waits on the word
To fill his mouth once more
And as his one face looks down
The other looks up
To the spot in the ceiling
Right behind his head
And thinks about the Lady
Who rules above
Who died and descended
And who took the underworld's keys
And who rose again on Easter day
And whose consort Dumuzi was her scapegoat
And who ransomed all life for love
He knows that she loved him once
And he knows he loves her too
But not as much as he loves his Lord
And so he waits in his room
He waits to be summoned
By either of them
But no word comes from the Lord or the Lady
And he sits and wonders
If his eyes will ever see eye to eye
Even if they are on opposite sides of his head
And he thinks that maybe if he looks at it sideways
Maybe he'll finally see the big picture
And know which call to answer
If they ever come at all

Hamartia

The old men tell stories
And I sit and listen
They seem to appreciate that

They speak of the days
When the skies were all bluer
And everyone still said "How are you?"

They speak of the time
When people went dancing
And blushing boys kept pace with the twirling

Never knowing that someday
They'd be sitting and talking
In a cafe all grown old, and miss it

I watch them talk
I read their lips
I wait my turn to
Say I know

They argue bout politics
And who would have been better
And how things just aren't what they used to be

They shout and they scramble
They play chess and scrabble
And sometimes they deal me a hand too

They tell me to listen
To learn from their mistakes
To find a good girl and to love her

They tell me to take her hand
Hold it so tightly and
Never let go, but don't trust her

I watch them talk
I watch them grey
I wait my turn to
Say I know

Last week they took old Jim
To a home in Wisconsin
His family said it was for his health

And three weeks from today
Mr. McDowell will say
That he can't even remember knowing him

And two years from tomorrow
When I have time to borrow
I'll go back and find their group cut in half

And I hope that I'll be brave
And maybe visit a few graves
And that I'll join the rest at their table

I watch them talk
I watch them go
I wait my turn
To some day say

Me too

Spinning Opals

I come as I am
But not as I would wish to be
I have in my hands
These stones of hard gravity
And I cant's stand
That I know they do not measure up
And I try not to think
That maybe its time and I should just give up
Because my words
My art and all these splatters on the page
Are cold and dark
Hard and callouse without form or spark
And I know
That they do not compare to your gems
And I think
They may be nothing more than frozen tears
Not deeply dug
And cut to show facets of light and dark
Not polish over
To gleam and be held aloft as fine art
These frozen tears
They cannot bear the weight of eyes
These hard stones
Have no truth, will crumble as lies
So shall I stop
Stop manufacturing these dulcet dreams
Shall I end it
And no more weave the things unseen
Because I have plans
But execution fails my neck again
And maybe its best
If I finally just give up this ghost
But that's not it
The case is made but the mind moves not
My own stubbornness
Says that I have come too far
And so I'll just push on
And slowly transform into Sisyphus
I'll push my loads
And every night give up again
And again
Until death takes these loads of stone
Throw me in the waves
With them tied around my bones
And let me sink
And let the waters of obscurity
Give me rest
And polish smooth these spinning opals

Such and such

He wakes up
And as the fog fades
The dreams go where they are bade
He remembers
That today
Today is the day
Fifty years to the day
When they made their vows
When he promised himself to her
When he stood in front of everyone
And said he would never love another
When he said he'd stay with her
He smiles
Thinks back on all their memories
Replays their story
Of that midnight dance
When he had finally been brave enough
In that coffee shop
When they had walked beneath the stars
And when he's kissed her
The first of a thousand and one kisses
Then the gulf had come
When they had lost their way
When they had found each other again
To hear her tell it
They had been destined from the start
The stars had foretold a great romance of the age
They had loved, she believed, as no one before had loved
He felt that she was right
He felt that he had said those words for a long time
He felt that he could not remember
What had made him so happy fifty years before
That he would make those promises before his friends and family
That he would tell her she would be the only one
That he would tell her she was his first and only
He doesn't remember the drive that fed his smile
He thinks its all been too fake for too long
He thinks he knows the hour of the first day
When she first faked the first orgasm
When he knew he could never be good enough
When he knew he would always fail
When he had given up
When they had found their routine
When the kids had come and gone
Like a river running through them
Like a stream carrying away the last of his dreams
Like a hollowing that has left him naked and bare
Like the idea of being free toxically entices
Like he feels as he wakes up today
Fifty years to the day
But he never gave up
Not on her or the promise he made
Even though he felt like he lied
And he never left her
Even if it meant years of being miserably next to her
Even if it meant waking up in a freezing bed
Even if it meant not knowing love since that first night long passed
He has kept his word for fifty years
He has hated every year for forty nine
He has not loved her for fifty one
But he has stayed with her
And he has stayed strong
And she can say all she wants
How his impatience killed the mood
How his lack of sensitivity
Created a feeling of stress
How she could have left him if she wanted
How she still could burn her wedding dress
They have been unhappy for a long forty nine years
But a nine month chain connected to an eighteen year writ of conscription
All of these chained them to one another
And for fifty years they have learned to cope
Now they can finally make a choice
And everyone will listen
And everyone will understand
Well almost everyone
They can stay another fifty years together
They can become a beacon for love
But can they truly be a beacon for love
When their own is a miasma to their souls
He thinks about this as he lays there
Washed in the grey light of dawn
He thinks about this as he looks over
To her slowly rising and falling form
Wrapped in blankets beside him
Still clinging to life, like their love used to do
And he sighs and decides not to think about it too much
And he laughs and plays a song and thinks love is always
Such and such

Regretful Post

I shouldn't be writing now
But I am anyway
And though I'll regret it later
I have to give wing
To the words inside
I feel so lonely
But only when I'm
All by myself
When I'm with other people
With them or him or you
I suddenly take on the form
Of the shape you expect me to take
But the lonely fate of the man
Who lives in the mirror
Is that when everyone goes home
I have nothing to show
No reflection dances
And I feel so alone
And I feel like the end is near
Maybe Kurt Cobain had it right
Maybe I'm getting just a bit
Too morbid tonight
Maybe I'm trying too hard
To make you happy
By continuing in this fleshy charade
Maybe I'm almost done
Maybe I'm already gone

Punctuation

One.Two. Three
And rise
One. Two. Three
And let him take the lead
One. Two. Three
Stop
One. Two. Three
Don't stop
One two three
Smile
One two three
Try at least
One two three
Maybe he'll buy it
One two three
Maybe he's too smart
One two three
Maybe he's not smart enough
One two three
To see you're just trying
One two three
But you can't make him happy
One two three
So you smile for yourself
One two three
And this rediculous dance
One two three
And rise
One-two-three
And again
One-two-three
Dip down
One-two-three
Please stop
One-two-three
I don't want to anymore
One-two-three
But you get no say
One-two-three
This is a dance
One-two-three
And the man leads
Onetwothree
Bite your lip
Onetwothree
And wait for the music to stop
Onetwothree!
He's smiling now
One two three
It's slowing down
One, two, three
Almost over
One, two, three
Just a bit more
One. Two. Three
Hold on, you're strong, you can
One.... .... two.... ....

Samsara

Awake
Rise from the bedsheets
Spilled and twisted on the floor
The midnight battle
Writhing against the sought for dreams again
Arise
And brush your mossy teeth
Try and try to fix your hair
Embrace that there is no victory
In the bathroom mirror with the corner crack
Away
Drive and don't remember that you forgot
To feed the plants and water the cats
To take that library book back
That today is actually a Saturday and you don't have work
Avoid
His searching look and lingering eyes
That hungry desperation
That just wants you to say yes this time
And every time after that
Arrive
Try not to make too much noise
Draw attention to the fact that you are late
Slip into the shadows and become
Invisible, you're not really there
Attack
When she tells you about her day
Make sure she knows where you stand
Draw the battlelines with white chalk
And in the no man's land let not a poppy bloom
Aggrieve
As you sit in that cold living room
And they stair at you with hatefilled eyes
Slimy trails that leek down talcumed chins
Making sure you know your place
Accept
That you will not fit in
When the train comes to a stop
And everyone waits for you
To move to the back where you belong
Agree
With your mother on the phone
Who has never seen the point of it anyway
And who thinks you better come home
Beef and corn and green beans in butter waiting for you
Alight
And land on your tip toes
As the last tune of the song fades away
Dying in such faint forgotten echoes
Trapped in dark corners between ceilings and wood beams
Atone
For every time you questioned the joy
You feel when you are standing on the stage
That spotlike gilding over your shame
And your dreams arise once more like the phoenix egg
Amend
The letter that you would have sent
And make sure she knows you still care
Even if you will not listen anymore
To the poison she sends in cards with cats on the front
Ascend
And make empty promises you won't keep
That you will not have a short memory
And that tomorrow will be a different day
When you will stay true to all your dreams
Acquiesce
But not the invitation for one more drink
And do not let him call a cab for you both
Take the long walk home in your red coat
And enjoy the feeling of the night rain and alcohol buzzing in your blood
Abide
And wrap yourself inside your blankets
Tell yourself a good night story
And plunge your room back into darkness with a flick
And let the wheel start again

A Poem of Me, Or, My Name is Not Dzhokhar

I am the boy
Without a drop of empathy
I've walked a road too hard
And seen too much tragedy
I am the boy
Raised in the place of lack
Saw the horrors we commit
Man to woman, white to black
I am the boy
Uprooted from my family
Transplanted to a new home
Forever feeling so lonely
I am the boy
With one foot here and the other there
Not American, not foreign
Not fitting anywhere
I am the boy
Who feels that no one can know
What its like inside my head
And there's no way for me to show
I am the boy
Strangled by my darkest dreams
Who will keep wearing my smiles
Who is not what I seem
I am the boy
So desperate to feel apart
To feel included and understood
To not live with this broken heart
I am the boy
Who finally found relief
Found the people who understand
Found the ones who share my grief
I am the boy
Directing all my energy
Pouring all into the cause
That finally makes me feel free
I am the boy
Who has made a terrible mistake
Who has placed my trust in someone false
Who has to live with new heartbreak
I am the boy
Who might never understand
Might never see the bigger picture
Always writing it off as some divine plan
I am the boy
Who has earned all of my shame
Who has made the choices to harm others
Who is the only one to blame
I am the boy
Who cannot be held at fault
Who felt like I had no other options
Who didn't take the easy way out
I am the boy
Who just needed to have a friend
Who just needed someone to care
Who could have prevented this bitter end
I am a boy
My name is not Dzhokar
But my story was almost his
Had a kind stranger not stopped me before I fell too far

In His Eyes

I bite back the words
Poisoned prisoners
My teeth their bars
They leer out of my brain
My eyes
Their silent hatred bleed towards you
Your calloused ways
The innocent things you say
You view me as a problem
That you will fix
I am not to be solved
I do not ever forget
So say what you want
Begin my countdown
As my hands reach closer
And closer in the dark
Your jugular will dance
Such a tranquil rhythm
A song to sing us to sleep

Rhetoric: On Contradicting Convictions, Moral Inaction, and the Logical Pathway to Resolution

The Problem:
Moral inaction on a personal level based on contradicting internal convictions. The classic superego vs superego Freudian problem. The lack of motivation to take moral actions stems from an uncertainty within the individual derived, I would pose, from conflicting internal convictions.

Distinctions and Definitions:
Conviction comes out of the merger of facts and belief. (Whether that is facts and belief in religion or facts and belief in reason. Or both.)The facts are the raw data gathered from the world. The belief is the manner in which that data is then processed. This provides a basis for what we can know, or knowledge. And knowledge considered to be certain, verifiable, or beyond reasonable doubt of changing, shapes our convictions. All conviction, whether religious or secular, whether correct or incorrect, is but a form of knowledge applied.

So therefore, the only thing that can cause a change in conviction is a change in the underlying base knowledge of the individual, Which can only result in either a change of facts gathered or a change of beliefs used to interpret those facts. Either of those are extremely rare phenomenon. An observational fallacy tends to hide contradicting facts and prevent them from being gathered once a conviction is formed. And in order to change a central or core belief requires a dramatic restructuring of an individuals ideological make up, which goes against our natural tendency to want to be correct and avoid uncertainty.

Separating Conviction from Emotional Stances:
Convictions are not emotional stances. When emotion moves a stance that stance cannot be grounded in conviction. The only things that a new emotion can affect is previous emotions. So therefore, if a stance changes based on new emotional agents introduced (such as empathy, fear, sadness, etc) then the stance is based upon emotions. Therefore, these emotional stances cannot be changed based on new facts or changes of belief. They can only be changed by a change in emotion.

An Application:
When Senators and Governors change their views on gay marriage because they find out one of their close relations is gay, usually a child, this change is usually one based off of emotions. Because it is not the fact that there is one more gay person in the world than expected or that their child may be influenced. It is because their fear of the foreign is replaced with either fear for their child, or empathy stemming from understanding based on more exposure to the thing that was foreign.

Similarly, if someone changes their stance on homosexuality or gay marriage based on greater exposure to gays and the gay community, this is an emotional change. The greatest strength and greatest weakness of emotional stances is how easy they are changed. All that is required is the introduction of a newer and stronger emotion.

On Artificial Convictions:
A further note should be added that convictions can also be artificially dictated and implanted into an individual. This artificial dictation happens to almost all individuals on at least some scale, based on the values, rules, and moral boundaries enforced on them as children by their cultural setting. This artificial construct can be as simple as the benefits of brushing teeth to the complex ideological structure of sexism. These artificial superstructures can become grafted into the individual's own personal convictions, however, in order for an artificial superstructure to work across a wide range of individuals, it cannot be flexible or adaptable, otherwise it would warp beyond recognition from person to person and would collapse into a more natural conviction forming process as described above. And that does occur for many individuals close to the quarter mark in life. If the superstructure remains in place, then it will at times create tensions between individuals' personal convictions and their superstructure convictions. The result is an internal conflict, resulting in divergent paths that both seem to be the morally correct thing to do. The individual will either have to compromise one of their convictions, resulting in severe feelings of guilt and often shame, which then materializes in self exploration, self condemnation, or aggressive justification. Or they will not make any decision at all, thereby not satisfying any of their moral calls to action, but at the very least not resulting in as much guilt as actually compromising a conviction would.

An Application:
This conflict between the superstructure of morality and the individual's personal moral convictions plays out clearly in the inaction of American Christians in the gay marriage debate. Because their artificial superstructure dictates that homosexuality is a sin and that marriage should be heterosexual and monogamous (all of which are not necessarily the end convictions of biblical knowledge - based on a biblical belief system interpreting the data in the world), but their personal convictions state that everyone should be treated equally and fairly and have the same rights and access to happiness. This moral contradiction creates a need for them either to violate their conviction in the Bible or their conviction in justice. And that is why so many American Christians are morally incapacitated by the debate over gay marriage. Because they cannot support either side without the feeling of guilt associated with the transgression of a moral conviction. This moral inaction can then only be justified by a surface reconciliation of the two moral convictions. This can occur in a number of ways, for example removing the actors from their actions e.g. "God hates the sin but still loves the sinner", or through a separate but equal kind of resolution e.g. "Civil Unions but not Marriage". And sometimes the reconciliation can come in a call for greater understanding, e.g. the "Let's Just Love People" stance.

Resolving the Problem of Moral Inaction:
This final surface reconciliation technique is the first step towards actual reconciliation of the moral contradiction felt by American Christians. For actual reconciliation to occur there has to be communication between the superstructure and the personal conviction, and a dialogue needs to occur that can call both sides into question. For this to occur there cannot be the feeling that either of the convictions are in danger. A conviction in danger results in a person avidly defending that conviction and shuting down any real communication because of the need to defend their stance to themselves. And the only way to relieve that sense of attack or of danger toward the conviction is through mutual understanding and trust. Which comes out of an easily acceptable common ground such as the "Let's Just Love People" stance.

The Method:
Once dialogue can begin, it becomes important to ask where convictions in the superstructure and the individual's personal moral convictions come from. This involves a deep exploration of the biases, the assumptions, the facts and how they were gathered, and where trust is being placed to form the conviction. This allows further common ground to be established between the two, which creates greater ease of dialogue. Which is important for the next part, which questions whether there is any chance the conviction on either side could be wrong and what the consequences for that incorrect conviction would be, in the short and the long term. This then requires a proper risk management assessment, to further inform what is at stake. Often this in and of itself is what dictates an individual's end conviction, though it is stronger if this merely helps to inform the end conviction.

The Aim:
This internal dialogue aims to come to a level of mutual understanding within the individual. To make a new conviction based off the former two, that doesn't leave the individual in a place of moral conflict. Rather, through close scrutiny of internal functions, the person can find a stance that does not violate their internal convictions by eliminating extraneous and unnecessary biases and preconceived ideas and instead focus on the core values they do not wish to violate.

A Caveat:
For this to be successful the individual has to be willing. That is the first step. A person who is set in their ways, and has no desire to assess their own inner workings will never be able to find moral resolution to their inaction. Instead, they will morally atrophy in their inaction and project that unsatisfied feeling outward, creating larger and larger facades of morality in order to mask the lack they feel within. They may donate more to causes, or express a sudden deep interest in some cause that they can support with both their superstructure as well as their personal convictions. No one can force anyone else to make the choice to find moral resolution. But these are the steps to finding it, if anyone is willing to seek it.

The Benefits for the Individual:
The benefit of this self exploration and resolution is that the individual is freed from their inaction and apathy. They are freed to make moral decisions and take actions that validate their moral stance and to still apply their personal belief sets while doing so. This is important in allowing the individual to function holistically as well as creating a healthier action set for approaching the world. As technology increases and the instant access to verifiable facts and resources (data and knowledge) increase, the various artificial ideological superstructures, such as Western Protestant Trinitarianism (the dominant form of Christianity in the United States and Northwestern Europe) as well as the Social Liberalism (specifically the dominant form found in most higher education institutions throughout the United States and most of Western Europe), will all experience increased conflict with individual's personal convictions.

The Benefits to the Community and the Public at Large:
Having this tool, this ability to reconcile, will not only help individuals continue functioning morally but will allow for greater understanding in larger cultural institutions as well as larger public forums on important moral and cultural decisions. In previous epochs of history, when large scale technological reforms have led to greater availability of knowledge, there has long been a tradition of decades and even centuries marked by blood and chaos. The printing press and its pamphlets precedes the Reformation, Counter Reformation, and centuries of Wars of Religion in Europe. The Enlightenment and its increase literary rate and access to books precedes a century of violent Revolutions throughout Europe and Asia. Throughout history whenever advancements in technology has increased access to data and knowledge, three groups of people were demarcated. Those who maintained their superstructure and their unchanging nature. Those who completely discarded their superstructure to create new moral structures based only on person convictions. And those who were caught in between, who could not ignore the new data being presented but who also did not wish to simply abandon their superstructures. And eventually it is the reconciliation of individuals, such as the historical Queen Elizabeth and her Acts of Toleration who stopped centuries of religious civil war and brought stability back to England, that eventually cause the bloodshed and violence to subside. The goal of this call to introspection is that as the cycle of violence is preparing to start again around cultural issues that call on morality, the individuals who bridge the gap, the ones who have this internal conflict, are the keys to prevention of violence. But before they can prevent that violence they must get past their inaction. They must stop and find internal reconciliation before they can look outward and bring cultural reconciliation.

Summary:
Data+Belief=Knowledge+Certainty*=Conviction+Action(-Emotion)=Personal Conviction/Stance
*relative certainty, not absolute certainty

When Artificial Superstructure =/=  Personal Conviction = Inability to Take Moral Actions

Common Ground - Threat on Convictions + Inquiry = Expanded Artificial Superstructure + Expanded Personal Conviction = Greater Common Ground + Accurate Risk Assessment - Any Unknown Presuppositions or Assumptions = Basic Most Valued Moral Convictions = Reconciliation of Artificial Superstructure + Person Conviction = New Conviction - Inaction + Basic Most Valued Moral Convictions

The Belief Beast Thing

It rises up in the morning
Dresses its frame with flesh and skin
Or perhaps takes on ethereal features
Clothed in thoughts and patches of air
It has long wings
Bat-skinned and covered in feathers
With sharp talons underneath
And arms that can reach much too far
It flies in the sun
Unmarked by any eyes upon the ground
It waits and watches and it rises still
Before plummeting past cloud banks
To catch its prey
The traveler
Claws enclose and tendons clench
And with a flap the earth is gone
So far below
The traveler cannot find a foothold
Carried along and struggling in vain
Or maybe not
The beast is strong
But it is after all
Only the appearance of strength
Perhaps
Perhaps the skin and flesh can be pulled back
And the frame laid bare on the ground
Will be nothing but an angel in the snow
An empty impression on the air
And the traveler will safely
Fall to their death
Along with the Belief thing
Until it rises once more in the morning
Until it rises again

The Story From the Old Man At the Bar

At this point I feel
Like I'm done
What's the point?
That place that exists
It doesn't last
Not outside the quiet hours
And every time I wonder if this is it
And each time I wonder where we go from here
I am almost completely done
I am ready to bolt
There is strange freedom in knowing
I could go anytime I wanted
I am getting tired
And I know soon the spark will go out
Like it did every time before
And once it does what is left?
A broken promise
An empty box of unsent letters
I know how to carve my initials
Into the soft, red flesh of a heart
I know it enough not to want to let anyone else
Especially her
My wife
Why?
Because I'm afraid of losing myself
That an ampersand means sacrificing who I am
I don't want to lose myself insider another person
I don't want to dissolve and become "one flesh"
I want love - and purpose - and understanding
And empathy and space- and privacy
And I don't think she can give this to me
I don't think anyone ever will
And I'm not sure if I'll be willing to trust anyone enough
To find out if I'm wrong
I guess that's why its called a self fullfilling prophecy
I guess I'm just drunk
And maybe it's time I went to sleep
Take my advice, kid
Stop looking for what you can't ever find

While Sitting At the Bus Stop, (An Overheard Poem)

A moment can change everything
A word- or one that's missing
It can change the thermostat
And where warmth was
Now rules the cold
It is childish
Adults set their feelings aside
Make social niceties
And pretend that they are fine
And maybe that's what she'll do tonight
Make sure certain things remain
Make sure her mask stays fixed in place
Maybe she'll finally let him in
A little bit less
Is she being emotional
Probably and maybe he should stop
Maybe emotions should have no place
But that's a bit too late
And now the investment's made
Now it's too late
And she has to deal
Deal with the change
And the moment and the words

At the Pole of Inaccesability

They sit on the swing
That hangs from the porch
That is covered by the honeysuckle
Underneath that Georgia sky
They do not swing back and forth
They do not say a word
They do not touch
They do not look
They are there together
And they are alone
She looks sideways to her mother
She traces the proud profile
She sees her own face's shadow
She sees deep laugh and tear lines
And she cannot help but wonder
What goes on inside her head
She thinks to ask the woman
But she knows she will never get in
Her mother stands on the ocean
The waves do not wet her skirt
The wind billows her shawl behind her
The sun kisses her skin
And she strides amid the breakers
She makes her way between the foam
She steps backward further
Going deeper and farther from the shore
And her daughter stands on the shoreline
And she strains her neck for a view
She wishes she could go in the water
And she wishes she knew what to do
Because her mother keeps going deeper
And the waves are gaining in size
She is stuck on the sandbar
And cannot walk on water no matter how hard she tries
There is a place out in the ocean
It is called a pole, of sorts
From where you are the farthest from land
From where you lose sight of the shores
And this place is like a whirlpool
Like a blackhole drawing her mother in
And she knows that she cannot follow
Yet
And she suspects someday she'll begin
To learn to walk on the waters
To learn to sit on a still swing
To learn to look at her loved ones
From the other side of a glass room
To place herself on a pedestal
To take on the cares of everyone
And be alone and still not ever
To live inside her own panopticon
She shivers there on the swing set
Even though its a humid, Georgia day
There below the grey skies
Below the honeysuckles
Below her mothers lovingly hard gaze

Conversion

Convert me

Take up the challenge

This can be fun

If I have to chase you

It only makes sense

That you'll have to do

Your own chasing too

Change me

I dare you to try

To try as you may

To change my mind

Don't worry so much

I promise I'll play fair

So will you come 

And give playing a try

Play with me

The dance is the same

I'm ready if you are

Show me you've got game

At least in the thrill of the chase

There is a rush

You cannot deny

So pick up your chase

Or try to keep pace

At the very least try

Engaging the lie

Anything over bordedom please

Or sitting quiet and contentedly 

So engage me

Try and rearrange me

Then enrage me

You say you can?

Then show me

Marks

He takes the blade in hand
Samson, the mighty man
And slays them all in the field
Food for little foxes in the grain

She takes his hand and holds it
Marks the places where his weapon lay
She sees his hands are changing their form
The more he does it the more he is marked

He sees her whispers in the dark
And knows what she will do to him
He knows he should run away
And yet he still lets her tie him to the chair

He takes the blade in hand
Gouges out his eyes so he cannot see
Delilah making her plans for him at night
And weeping at their undoing in the morrow

She presses her hand on his
Sees the blood pooling from his eyes there
Running in the furrows of his palm
The more he does it the more he is marked

She moves to his place trapped between the pillars
She finds him there in chains of his making
And she wants him to be happy with her
But she knows she can never let him go

She takes the blade in hand
Cuts his hair and shaves his face
And the strength to fight left him then
And he would never escape

He takes her hand and feels the creases
Where she held the blade too tight
Feels his blood and hair caked there
The more she does it the more she is marked

He takes the pillar in hands
Caked with blood and hair
Draws the curtain on their short time together
Now they are all marked and blinded

Now we are all Samson

The Gift of a Book

Honestly
Its like I'm dating a younger version of you
And she's got all your same insecurities and short comings
Except she's not tempered by the experience of your failures
Yet
And its driving me batshit crazy
Because all that will happen is she will be like you
And we will have children and they'll be like me
Making all the same decisions
And mistakes
We'll keep making the same mistakes over again
We won't learn
We won't grow
It's all been done before
And there's a certain sick form of comfort in that
That says if I stay on this path, with her
That I will at least know where we end up
And that that ending is not so bad
Except it's not the ending I want
It will not satisfy me
And I will not become like my dad
Famous last words
I know
Oh well
Time will only tell
In the meantime I'm thinking of giving her the books
The ones that helped you in your old age
When all your children were already grown
And you had made all your mistakes on me
I'm thinking of giving her your books
In the hope that she will accept them and truly read
And maybe we can avert this catastrophe
Because I am not repeating the refrain
Either we will loose all we must loose
Or else there will be nothing gained

Dreamfalling

Could we talk for a second
He asks her for the time
And she gives it to him gentle
As exactly eleven fifty nine
And he says its too expensive
And he asks if there's another choice
And she answers the Gregorian calender
And she answers there is South by Southwest
And he wonders what that means to her
And he wonders if its the same for him
And he takes her hand and holds it tight
And she smiles as she slaps him
He asks her for a moment then
He asks her to play fair
She responds that has never been loves game
And she tells him to write on the air
And he knows that she is mocking him now
And he knows that he deserves to be mocked
And he wonders if he will ever reach out
And get her to finally wake up
Probably not
Probably
Not

On Emotions

Emotion is not the enemy
Though logic would convince you so
Emotion can be the wind beneath your wings
Emotion can be the song enriching the victories
Emotion can be the wonder
Emotion can be the awe
But logic can lie about emotion
Try to bottle it up
And once you lock that door
It builds up inside your head
Swirls around and make you doubt yourself
Emotion is made for expression
So shout and yell and scream and laugh and sing
Whatever you do make sure that you sing
Let the emotion pour forth
And let them take flight on your voice's wings
These emotions will return and lie with your logic
In quiet slumber you will see the full circle
And the two shall make love inside your soul
And you will feel whole
Do not cage your emotion
Do not break your emotion
Do not hide the thing inside your head
Let it walk out and let it make its way
Let it dance and do not stop yourself from singing
Emotion can be a glorious thing
Emotion can be the song in the storm you sing
And when all logic fails you in the face of impossible loss
Your emotion alone will sustain your wings

On the Nature of Things

Winter follows Fall
And Spring follows Winter
And so on and so on the dancers dance
Friday follows Thursday
And Saturday follow Friday
And the dance goes round its merry way
Change is constant
It never ends and never stops this is certain
Childhood comes and we must part with it
Put behind us the years of our youth
Adulthood comes and goes as well
The prime of our strength and song
The autumn of life then follows
The golden gleam at the end
This too must pass and all things die
And all things are born again
If you like
If it makes you feel better
But the circle goes on
And after we're dead they won't remember
And the world will turn and people will laugh
The dancers keep dancing
Evening comes after Afernoon
And Afternoon comes after Morning
The Waning after the Full Moon
And the Full after the Waxing
All things change and the change is constant
Like tides upon the strand
They rise up they give life
They fall back and everything dies in the end
Nothing is constant
Except for change
Embrace the new day
Knowing there will never be another like it
Let go of yesterday
And do not worry so much about tomorrow
Yesterdays will always come before todays
And tomorrows will always be waiting after
Everything changes except for change
Nothing is truly eternal

The Trouble of an Ampersand

Romeo lies next to the water

And listens to her song as she runs

He closes his eyes and wonders 

Wonders if he's doing the right thing

Juliet comes up out of the river

Water drips down her skin and fingers

And she sees the boy lying there beside her river

And she thinks of all the pretty songs he sings

And Romeo wakes to the cool touch of her skin

Her finger tracing words on his bare arms and legs

Trails of water that he imagines is rain drops laughing

And he does his best to keep pretending he's asleep

Because Juliet has read the script too

She knows how their story will end 

But here on the hidden banks of the green river

Here where the madman's quill can't find them 

There is a moment of peace and of desire

Romeo knows this but keeps his eyes shut

Keeps pretending he is just asleep and this a dream

Keeps pretending that he doesn't know she's next to him

And Juliet wonders why he's resisting 

And Juliet leans down so her lips are by his ear

And she whispers, "Come away with me.

I can hide you here, in the river."

And though he keeps his eyes shut he whispers

"I cannot. I am not Ophelia after all. 

And in us is not the power to alter our ending."

And he hopes she understands his meaning

And she leans in again unthwarted

"Come away with me, into the water.

We must away if we are to be together.

This is the sacrifice in the joining of hearts."

And he knows all too well the truth of her words

But tells her instead a story

"Once there was a man from the distant plains

Where mountains of sand meet the seas of dust

Rivers are fire and boil red like blood.

There live the descendants of Lot's wife, the people of salt

And among them was a great warrior

Who having defeated the last of the great dragons

Journeyed south from the fire and salt lands

Seeking another adversary to best.

This great warrior came to the forest of iron

But the iron was turned to rust 

And melted as rivers of molten lead under his blade

Then came he to the great canyons of the wind

But no matter how the great winds howled

They only made his salt skin stronger

And he stood as a pillar unmoved and unshaken

Then came the victorious warrior at last

To the lake of perpetual silence

Where no bird, no beast, no man and no stream

Make sound or utter a single thing 

For fear of the maiden who lives in the lake

Who slumber beneath waters and dances at night

And though warned was he still he made his way

And loudly burst forth in the sacred glade

But instead of finding a lake witch to battle

He fell in love with the lady of the lake

As she stood waist high in the water

Bathing her pale skin in the moon light

And instantly desire for her overtook him

And he ran to her there in the lake

But ere he took two steps he cried out

Because his boots dissolved into the water

And then his feet with them as well

But she bade him come closer and deeper

And that this was the price all salt men had to pay

If they wanted to be with her

And so he pushed on further and deeper

The water at his waist the water at his chest

And all the while his body dissolving slowly

As if eaten alive by an army of ants

Until he reached her and took her hand

And then his face disappeared beneath the water

And then he was no more a man

All that was left in the glade 

Was the white foam of the salty waves

And the dead lake in which nothing now could live or grow."

And Juliet felt her heart grow heavy

And she inquired why Romeo would tell her this tale

And he answered her then plainly

"I am a boy of salt and you the daughter of a stream

On my own I can be strong and sure

And you can bring life and laughter and songs."

Juliet stopping writing then and asked

"But are you saying we together will only bring death

Is that not the end of all things anyway

Did the playwright not already give us our ending."

Answered Romeo then, eyes still shut tight

"But the death I speak of us not a separating death

This is the death of the self dissolving in the "one flesh"

and we will no longer be ourselves."

"But is that not the point of love"

Juliet spoke with fervor and passion

"Does love not imprint itself on our souls

And make us do the things we never would have thought."

And Romeo did not say anything in response

And Juliet did not do anything in reply

They listened to the sound of the rain begin

Dancing drops on the river's gleam

"You are water and I am salt

You bring life and I preserve it

Individually but in tandem we work fine.

Filling the niche the other leaves bare

But once you mix us, once we become one

We no longer can do either of our function

And all we will be left with 

Is the bitter taste of tears.

And then there will be no more Juliet

No more Romeo, no one will recall. 

They will forget you as the maiden of the river

And the songs I sang and stories I told. 

We will then be trapped in our vial of tears

Forever "Romeo & Juliet" our fate

If I open my eyes we will be together 

But if I open my eyes then it will be too late.

Let us savor this moment of silence

Let us cherish the quiet hours still

Before long they will fly from us

Either reason will sate the playwrights quill."

So Romeo lay eyes still shut by the river

And Juliet stood unsure of her way

Would she return to the river a while longer

Cherish the time before it reached the end

Or would she lie down next to him and force the issue

Make him open his eyes and relent

Should she fear the salt water as he does

Should she embrace the ending written for them

The Thing About Pressing

Compression starts at thirty thousand feet
You grasp for the reaching hand ahead of you
You can barely take a breath
The air is tearing from your lungs
And you can hardly hear yourself think
Over the roar of the rushing wind
Decompression starts at five thousand feet
The bubbles pouring out of your gaping mouth
The edges of the mask cut into your face
And your blood begins to boil
Be careful of your bloody nose
You can kick as hard as you can
But you can't slow your rush to the surface
Depression start at nine o clock
You read the twitter post and think its about you
You think that they are mocking again
Then blame it all on your paranoia
But no matter which way you go
You're still boxed inside your own head
And the walls are closing slowly
Press back if you think it will make the difference

A Dream and A Warning

The storm raged wild on the day you were born

And such a storm to remember

The sea iron grey foamed white in its anger

And the rain fell like ice that November

Yes, you my son, were born in the gale

As our longship rode through the night

Lightning forked through the clouds above us

And thunder carried your first cries at light

The gods do not love you my child

They broke our ships each and everyone

And the oracle said that to save our selves

I would have to give the gods you, my son

So I stood on the prow of the lead longship

As it rose and crested the mighty waves

Like mountains of grey-green water rising

To carry us all to our graves

Your cries of protest mixed with the gullcall

As the thunder crackled in the air

The ship rose up, ready to plummet

And I so I did what I did, but with care

You were taken by the sea's salty embrace

Not enough time even to give a cry

And at least I consoled myself it was quick

And that the gods had taken you when you died

But how was I to know then my son

That indeed the Strom-king was your foe

And that his brother, the Lord of the Waves

Had whispered those words of woe

So that when the Oracle demanded your life

It was he, the Sea King, who wanted you child

For his plot against heaven and against its king

Would be fulfilled when you had been beguiled

And so you were taken by the ocean

And into the subterranean halls you were received

And given to one of the Sea King's own daughter

To be raised by her until you were weaned

Weaned off of air and off of the milk of your mother

Weaned off the legs with which you were born

Changed were you child, in the Sea King's palace

Raised to be a warrior, the Trident that Strikes the Storm

I tell you this all now, here in your late sleep

On the eve of battle before you shall rise

Up out of the depths, armor dripping and sword ready

Commanding the waters and their forces to surpise

I beseech you my son, from my place in the shadowlands

I have passed years ago and now I can see

That the game the gods are playing with your fate

Will lead you down a path of dark destiny

Return to the waters, to the Sea King's daughter's embrace

Return to the breast from where you fed

Grow old, marry well, and have plenty of children

Then come and meet me here in the land of the dead

But do not embark on this mission of power

And do not head the Sea King's commands

For once you set foot back on the dry earth

You shall once more become a man

And with all the weakness and powerless plight

You shall be devoured by Heaven's Hound

Head my words, do not go in the morrow

Take wisdom while it may still be found

The StoryTeller

Contrary to what has been said

She picks up the pieces and will not stay

She wears a dusty faded skirt

And puts her earings and bracelets away

She rolls her head inside a scarf

She hides her dark hair there from sight

She walks barefoot upon the red road

She sleep at day, travels by night

And when some lonely fire spied

She makes her way quiet as a mouse

Or when approaching a storm marked inn

Or when sojourning at a lonely house

She makes her presence known afar

The soft tinkling of her silver bells

A place to sleep and some food to eat

In exchange for the stories she tells

Then comes the satchel and from it the powder

Then comes the smoke and the smell of flowers

And then comes the voices that are not her own

Then comes the drum and the shaker and the bone

She tells them not to fear her tales

And spins the web ever tighter still

They cannot leave anymore than a fly

Caught in a web struggles with all its will

Her tale rises and every seat is on edge

The ending is near, their hold their breath

The tale is ending and takes a sudden dark twist

Scattered with bodies and the angel of death

And then it is over and she gets up to leave

They lie here and there, some together some apart

She finishes eating and wipes her mouth

Then stomps out the fire in smoke and sparks

She carries on her journey towards the sea

She keeps telling stories and leaving the dead

She picks up the pieces and goes on her way

Contrary to what has been said

Are You Afraid

There is fear

Can you tell

Can you smell it

Can you breathe in the dusty sparks of the smoke in the air

Taste the copper on your tongue

And the way the wind tugs your hair saying

"Come! Come! We must go! We must away!"

You have not listened to the wind

You think that you are brave

For not listening to your fear

You have walked into a trap

And you know it deep inside

You have a mirror

And you sit by it like the Lady of Shallot

And you look at the world in reverse

And you look at the nights passing by

There is fear

You can see it

Almost present

Almost forming shape and taking body

Right in front of your eyes

There is fear

Do you fear it

Should you fear it

Fear the thing that makes your dream into the lie

Prognosis

From inside

It grows like a thing of dread

Reaching tentacle-like

Waking Cthulu from his bed

Rising through my mirky soul

Stirring up sediments I had long laid to rest

Or so I thought

Clouding the clarity of the moment's peace

My inner darkness now released

And flooding freely veins of creativity

And flooding icy the fires of my certainty

And while the world is a play

And while the players are all blind

I walk the tightrope above my self

The tightrope on fire by what I do not hide

Because I have told myself I shall not

Turn right until I have walked seven steps

And I cannot turn left except through right

No matter how the children have wept

So once broken from this shadow mold

I thought to be free from these constraints

Not knowing I had merely swallowed my own chains

The rattle of each step, iron deep singing

I know the song of death rising inside

On wings of night like a thing of dread

Wings I shall call nights of bliss

On wings of night like a thing of love

Wings I shall call string-like strength

And make the morning break

Orange sun and yellow sky

Break

And break apart

From inside

To Dust

A handful of earth
Crawling red between my fingers
Slides to join its mother
And the world is whole again
It leaves no imprint
Except on my soul
And under my finger nails
I carry it with me
The echoes of the earth under my feet
And my finger nails
That tingle with excitement
Not yet not yet
I whisper to those fingertips of mine
Not yet the earth has to wait
And we will join her soon
Soon but not yet
Soon we will be in her red embrace
Soon we will sleep inside her heart
And return to that dusty place
When the breath has gone
When-- not yet not yet
For now I carry it with me
Under my fingernails
and on my toe tips

Calcium Listens

Calcium holds his hands behind his ears

Cups them to draw in the sound

Closes his eyes so tight

Until all he sees is the dull red light

Until all he sees is the sound of night

And draws a breath through his grit teeth

And draws the barbells through a straw

And draws and draws until the dawn

When people walk the streets beneath

As Calcium holds his hands behind his ears

Drawing up the world in shades of sound

Pattern pitter patter upon the drums

Calling cadences that speak of things

A child fallen cries out its face red

A lark stops singing, its mate dead

A petal touches earth from a withered flower head

And in it all there is the breaking in of new sounds

The start of a song never played before

The start of a prayer to be repeated nevermore

The soft susurus of something in the deep

The soft movement of the dead in their sleep

Calcium hears all with his hands behind his ears

Cups them to draw in the life

Closes his eyes so tight

Until all becomes one song of the night