“There are few nudities so objectionable as the naked truth.” – Agnes Repplier
It’s time to transform our lives—from the ordinary that shouldn’t have become normal for people like us to the life we’ve hoped for.
It’s time to live our hopes.
Solomon said there’s a time for everything.
That means we always live in the time for something.
And now is our time.
No more excuses, no more delays, no better-things to do. In a voyeuristic culture, in a voyeuristic world, and in the mind-game of ‘I like to watch’ it’s time to do something worth watching.
And we are ready.
It’s our time to do something worth watching.
We’re ready for whatever is next because what’s next is all we’ve got.
The past can’t be changed. We can play with it, or twist it, but if we try to ignore it we will be haunted by it. It won’t go away.
The present—our now—is ephemeral. It’s worse than brief, faster than fleeting; it’s timeless and seductive. And it’s gone… just like that. If we listen closely we can hear it laughing at us, mocking us.
What’s next is all we’ve got.
And what’s is next is up to us.
Our timeThis is the truer truth.
I feel famous on days like today,
plucky and serene, unhurried by
a schedule everyone else rushes
to keep, naturally pausing to look
into a mirror, chin raised and
finger tips guiding aside a wisp
of hair that falls back lazily,
attractively; exiting into a calm
day to match just me, stepping
onto the bus without a pause or
breaking stride, smiling in response
as strangers try to get my attention,
nodding and turning toward the
window as the sun itself brightens
while other squint uncomfortably;
my uniform hiding behind my
overcoat and scarf which is so soft
and flimsy it’s simply an accessory.
Signed, the Management
It has come to our attention
that you are dissatisfied
with the general experience
of living, or so it would seem;
your constant complaints,
derogatory remarks, groans,
sour grimaces and typical
leave us with no other option
than to conclude that you
would be happier with
some other company;
therefore, please be advised
that effective in the immediate
future, possibly within as few
as six months, your employment
will be terminated and
a severance package will
be negotiated at the
discretion of the management
based upon your history
of contributions made
during your time with us.
Signed, the Management
Oh, to be a Jack
Jack of all trades, master of none,
was the watchword back in the day
and I always found it so annoying;
an excuse, I was sure, to just ignore
so much going-on, available to me,
ready to become part of my little life
and make it big and exciting and alive;
but because of a distrust in abilities,
my grasp of every little thing, lacking
discernment, the inability to discern
between lust and love, hyper-attentive
distractedness, and the damnable
curiosity that kills cats, I was told
I just didn’t need to know because
people in power like to keep secrets
in order to keep it for themselves;
but I didn’t want their power,
I was no master, I just couldn’t stand
being happy with not being a Jack.
We don’t understand normal anymore,
don’t understand what’s happened, before
we’ve became the new black, the new average,
and maladaptive became all one could salvage.
Making-do and not expecting too much,
a reasonable way to cope – a sacred crutch;
lest any be forced to act out of compulsion,
a violation of will leading to convulsion.
The mushroom cloud of the family,
looms large on the horizon of the latchkey;
and any invocation of is dripping with guilt,
a poor rendering of the intricate human quilt.
This was not always our social affinity,
but an industrial product of economic viability;
accommodative adaptivity in a pragmatic vein,
we collect round the character campaign.
From Ozzie and Harriet, Ward and June,
to the village it takes to raise this tune;
we’re better off not asking too much of any
for disappointment weighs upon all heavy.
A Dog’s Life
I’ve been reading a lot about dogs lately,
not on purpose, but because others are wondering
what dogs think when they look at us
quizzically, with heads tilted as if to understand,
assuming they want to communicate
out of pure devotion rather than appetite or instinct,
and this anthropomorphic projection
has them living an unfallen life, no dread of death
or long-term memory to sadden them,
but only the romance of bones buried in the prospect
of hope instead of grievous loss;
a simple life of smells, the next meal, distractions
to fill the time in between sleeping,
which we honor by allowing them to continue
in undisturbed, sage wisdom;
and we muse with Lockean ruminations they must
enjoy an indirect realism of
mental representations of cars and mailmen
as they infinitely regress in noise,
barking as if exhibiting a Wittgensteinian tractatus
of use trumping meaning every time,
whimpering that there is nothing outside the text
in an infinite play of squirrels and
more squirrels, until we have them supra-human
in a simplistic philanthropy we long for.
Clematis or Rhizome
While we aspire to reach for the stars,
stretching to the sun, everyone a clematis,
it is the humble rhizome spreading
insidiously beneath the dirt, poking up
here and there, and there, and there
to glimpse the light, refresh just so briefly
to continue, submerged, intertwining and
crisscrossing invisibly that explains how
most of us survive on this spinning ball.
Life’s a Stage
If life is a stage, then I am sitting in the audience
toward the back on the left side, wondering
when the intermission will begin and if
there will be enough time to go to the bathroom,
and maybe get something to eat at the concessions stand but the play
just keeps going and going without stop
and here I am, fidgeting and squirming
and praying for the end until I remember
this is life and I want to see what happens next.
The way to live, in just a few words,
will include gratitude,
ignoring the din of reprisal, the choral
complaint that life
shouldn’t send our way the inelegance
that is tantamount to living itself;
following which we
might give consideration to joy,
as in, elation,
which is, of course, a difficult plan
to plan, but that’s
the challenge to living a how-to life;
and then simply add
tears, laughter, frowns and grins,
that is, have children,
your own or someone else’s will do,
for they’ll add all
that’s needed, if we’re appreciative
in the first place.
The Hardest Part
My daughter asked what was the hardest thing
about… and I braced myself for her question, doubting
my ability to answer as I ought, hoping it was answerable
by her mother, that I would reply tactfully, and she
would know my love even when wrapped up in mistakes;
she had to repeat the question for me, about the hardest
thing about…learning to ride a bicycle, and as soon as
she said it I stopped myself, thought carefully, and said
it had to do with steering into the falling sensation – no one
liked that but it was the only way, along with continuous
peddling (you gotta keep peddling) to stay upright; she
had her own answer and blurted out, the hardest part
was the pavement and skipped haplessly out of the room
giggling, leaving me speechless and smiling in relief,
wondering why can’t all her questions be this much fun.