Heart Wrenching Expository

It is Christmas time and agreeably it has become about gifting, regifting and black Fridays. So the expections are more about the big tickets like items, a diamond ring or a brand new and expensive car.

And then the neighbors pining through a kitchen window,  about that car.   But we know that that is not the feeling we wish.

It is not even the Christmas classics but the cookies, the fudge, mistle-toe and Holly.  And it is about ….. the stocking.   Not much fits in it,   but it’s relatively small size,  belies,  its intrinsic value.    The handmade ornaments, made of construction paper.  It IS all about the intrinsicness of childhood,  free of spending money on things,  you can do without and a lot of which,  are returned.   Like regifted fruitcake and leftover meals.

Image result for fruitcakeImage result for christmas stocking clipart

Due to a loss of the stocking, a large space is left and then it becomes adult recreation that fulfills the void left by wrapping paper and bills that make matters worse.

There are incontributibutable tales, of years of real peace,  that continues and that manifests itself in an acceptable drama and a welcoming catharsis, that even Christmas cannot fufill.

Rather than an escape,  but an admix of pleasure and release.  A moment or moments, that seem to outsiders as bizzare and even sociopathic.

Is there anything more sociopathic than Black Friday, that can be done online?  So,  I muse over muses like in Xanadu,  the rekindling of escape and solicitude,  giving and receiving the very need that seems to slip through our fingers.

Image result for xanadu movie

 The silk of sin and pleasureable moods never leaves and the fulfilment, exotic to a fault, but that is the pleasure and romance one needs.   Total abandonment and reclusive release.  The corporal silk of the sensitivity of the skin and the control  over it.  Never to subsist,  but growing in confidence.

Image result for subs in sex

Image result for subs in sex

I heard… my Lord speak, past the Charlatans.

I heard the loud gossip.   The unremitting implacable voice that bled tyranny  without a purpose.   The dangling nuances floated like dandelion leaves weaving themselves intricately in the still practically still air.   Soon the caterwauling traversed the Ivy walls and permeated a culture.   The perceived sin was a stain and the accuser with a letter opener divulging it’s contents with savage alacrity.

ContreTemps04690x394x130807_contre_temps.jpg.pagespeed.ic.8VMmdubSQw

Pretty soon more bees appeared humming innuendo in consonance,  breeding a fomenting tide.   The woodchucks were building a dam to a pent up rage.   Finding philosophy,  clarifying perceptions and sustaining the crackling whip.

Now the tide’s foams where churning,  this mass moving forward in soliloquy followed by a sneeze.  The steady hum of ceiling fans and the bubbling cauldrons of digestion echoing about.   Terse abeyance with the clicking clock,  this momentary lapse in a long and counterproductive day.

????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

The victim’s penance was not enough!   The dirty closet was for later and now just the poison of a sting,  it’s arrow embedded in the heart.   The poor Butterfly felt dizzy and the drawing of the curtain too much.  This Monarch was unseated,  it’s clefted speech unrecognizable.   There really was no sustaining sin or the need for such whippings for the Antlers of the accuser gored with reckless glee.

visages-de-femme-1370115318_bClandestine dreams

White linen appeared,  as a Praying Mantis praying her sublime ode with perfume and the perfunctory slap of heavenly quiet.   Reckoning not with shackles but a compromised self-image,  the progression of a pendulum,   striking the atavistic cheek with a dose of reality.  The Victim like the Swan apoplectic at it’s good fortune,   humbly then cast aside the hurt in favor of a favorable outlook.   Exonerated and unimpeachable joyfulness like the bells of a church chattering.

article-2451403-18A3707800000578-728_638x546LPCspGa

keep1Dream within a dream 3

To a pastoral scene within a dream of Tanzanite Blue and the shifting sands of time to a reverence and the hand of God looking kindly, prodding,  reassuring.   You are safe,  feel the cascading waterfalls wash away ordinary blame…    Resolved…..

Black History Month & the Greatest Pitcher Ever – Bob Gibson

My favorite baseball player is almost 80 years old next November.    He is about five weeks older than my mother and regardless of the fact that he does NOT know me,   he is my role model,  my baseball idol and a man of great character.

I feel that too many times Jackie Robinson is hailed as the great trailblazer of equal rights.   But Mr. Gibson himself grew up in one of the most dangerous ghettos in America…   Cabrini Green.    His own father died about three months before Bob was born and his brother who was some 15 years older was a kind of mentor.

The song above is probably my favorite from Elvis and conveys the hard reality of disadvantage and self-destructive behaviors.     Growing up in Texas in a segregated neighborhood it seemed that integration was happening and no one had to tell us racism was wrong.   How is it little kids can figure out.   One day this black boy came across me and asked his friends,  “Who is this peckerwood?”     One of my friends from that run down place called the young black child out and told him I was his friend.

Racism was very real but the good part of that change was not a slogan or a gimmick,   we had real problems in our country.   We had Little Rock Hall and the protest of the brave young black students.    I was one year old as this cauldron was beginning to boil over and an ugly scene ensued.

This young lady was a hero and young kids of all races were angry at the over racism and Jim Crowe Laws that permeated the nation and especially  the South.    It was this that the young Cardinal star had to deal with and he did so relatively easily as was his character never to lose at anything.

Gibson had rickets and asthma as a kid and yet become a good basketball player,  averaging 22ppg as a senior in high school.   After that he went on to be an All-American  basketball player at Creighton University.    And from there the Harlem Globetrotters and finally signed with the St. Louis Cardinals.

When pitching for the St. Louis Cardinals in spring training,  black players were not allowed to stay in the hotel that was white only.    Eventually the Cardinals organization fixed that problem.    Imagine being the superstar pitcher in the second best baseball organization and then being spit at in Florida.

The rough life growing up and his competitive nature made him a force in the game and he set one record that is still a record fifty or so years later.   (1.12) over 300 strikeouts and 13 shutouts with 22 wins.    He was a prolific hitter also bashing 24 Homeruns and 144 RBIs.   During the day there were not a lot of televised games and especially the Cardinals so I would listen to KMOX in St. Louis while we were living in upstate NY.      I loved and was proud when watching him pitch and would emulate his pitching delivery.

Mr Gibson like Hank Aaron survived the rigors that racism and hate with class and strength.   One time his catcher Tim McCarver ( a really good one) came to the mound and Gibson, “told him the only thing McCarver knew about hitting was he couldn’t.”

He was known for a blistering fastball and an awesome curve.    When he retired I felt such a deep sadness on a variety of levels.    As the years have passed fans revere him as a classy human and one of the greatest pitchers and one of only a few black pitchers.      So my looking up to him is influenced by so many factors.    I refused to lose and invariably I came through in the clutch every so often.   That included beating an undefeated wrestler in a state tournament,     and an unassisted triple play.    The baseball coach told my little brother that he had large shoes to fill.

I was born in a turbulent time with wars,   bitter conflicts racial and otherwise so I take a dim view of blacks using slavery as a crutch and so do the stars,   businessmen and fathers who do the right thing and do represent the status quo,   There is a lot of work and Ferguson roiled the waters and I am not going to be political but to say,  we collectively have to see each others as valuable as ourselves if not more.

This is a condensed version of my love and respect for this great man and served as a role model to black and white kids.

BobGBGibson45BGBG2

She Fell in Love. Can’t be help responsible!

Back in 1974,  I was a kid,   only 18 years and probably was witness in some way to a date rape.   It sure felt like it because as I was leaving out the dorm that night,  guys were pulling a train on a teen girl and some guy asked me if I wanted to have ‘some.’   I said, “no.”   And besides,  the choice of words haunts me too as well as the whimpering that went along with her disorientation.

I was so naive but a part of my soul has been tortured to this very day.   If I knew then what I know now,   I might have gone postal because I cannot imagine a crime worse than that.     You see,   she was drunk and whimpering.   Damnit.   That really pisses me off.  No girl asks for ‘it.’   Not for that.

 

But date rape characterizations are nothing new and for the longest time just generally accepted.   In the movie ‘Animal House’  the guy was contemplating having sex with a passed out underage girl.    Did she ask for it?  NO! Does it happen?   Hell ya!   Is it any wonder so many women want to spread the pain around.

Going a few years into my adult life,   I had a girl friend and she was given a roofie.    The net effect according to her,  was she never felt the same about anything!    Date-raped by her boss at the mall.   She and I went through hell afterwards and my anger @ jerkoffs intensifies.    My girlfriend was only pieces of ceramic,   like Humpty-Dumpty,  those pieces can’t always be fixed.

I suffer too,  knowing that seedy men with seditious desires lay in wait,   like Jack The Ripper or the Boston Strangler.   In these instances the pain is far worse than death.    It is a slow blood-letting of one’s spirit and sense of control.    We had great times and every once in awhile we would talk.

From her bosses abuse of her,  of us really,   she went on a self-destructive binge with an older guy who was a criminal.   Arrested for a crack ball and spending time in prison,   he seemed to like finding young victims.   Her sister said he liked to read magazines like ‘Barely Legal’ and ’18’.      Yeah one of those!    One day her sister gave me a journal she had written and she had talked to her sister about the parasite she was with and how she missed me and my steady decisions and what would I do in a particular situation.   She said I am the guy that returns the shopping cart.    For awhile I was miffed by that but then got the gist of what she was trying to express.     She also got a disease from this miscreant,   Herpes!

(She fell in love in the first place)))

For some reason these words tick me off.    An otherwise innocent girl and not perfect by any  means,   paid the price for both of you and you both should be ashamed.     And I harbor guilt for not being able to protect her from the smarmy underbelly of the beast that lurks with a touch of wind and a wiff of illicit drugs.

If her mom had not been a prostitute and subjected her to so much,   she might have been able to cry on her shoulders.    She could have  told her Mom what he said and did  and your Mom would turn away.   Flushed with anger and disappointment,  words she heard once upon a time. Now reverberating like a song that plays over and over on a music box.   The ballerina fell suddenly and her porcelain dreams laid like a million shards of what ifs.

So let’s examine some of the dubious comments made by men and boys and mostly they are one and the same.     Your high school heroes and high society icons flickered as capriciously as the stories of high school football players and date rapes.   The bottom-line being the reputation of the boys and a girl who was allegedly asking for it.    She was collateral damage in the game of cat and mouse.

He gave you wine or drugs and told you it was okay.    He promised you everything to dance in the sheets and tomorrow he denies that he even knew you or the things you said,  you couldn’t have meant,  if you did say them….

Their friends and influences probably had mixed emotions about the destruction,   from the boss to the drug abusing narcissist whose real romance is a synthetic cesspool of misery.   Both now share in a common malady with excuses and no care for the damage they were doing.

What once was a fairy tale happiness transmogrified into a hellish world of missed chances.   Where lightning does strike over and over again(in the same place) and the pain still flows,  if even now to more or less a trickle.     In the video above  Boy Meets Girl they dance and sing with a love that we all want and yet finally,  even they play a requiem to a love gone strange.     To me,   as I worked in the media in Tampa,   the song was a fresh time.   A promise.   Together with Paula Abdul’s ‘Straight up’,  it seemed life had spectacular promise,  even after a lost preemie and the mother who ran off for a decade and a half with our daughter.

But life has second chances even if those chances require some modifications to retrofit them to make them work.    I do remember what my daughter said about her 16th birthday and how much she loved me.   That that was her best birthday ever.   This after being lost to me from her early post natal days to about fifteen years later.    Still,   I would NOT change things too much because what if we never rediscovered that and that is why the blog about ‘Ten Years a Single Mother’  and her kids love for her touches my heart.   Kids get the connections and their love is pure if they are loved.

The theme of this entire post is what are we going to do.    Rather than just complain about the pain,  how can we fix a thing?   You,   I and many others have lived on both sides of the track and nothing……  nothing gets fixed by complaining.    We need to put people first because a warm place and a hot dinner matters.

To the abuse of women,  children and the vulnerable,   you and I can change the world.    I have a few things going now.    One is to get Emotional Support Animals and Service Pets for people who need them.    Let’s teach men and society in general how to treat a lady and your kids.    We need to focus on identifying potential abuse and treat the family not a case number but take care of it as a village.  With compassion.    No tolerance policies does not heal a family.    Making rules is what politicians do.   Why do we punish people like Aileen Wuornos the way we do?   Why not find out where at-risk people are and help?   That gives us all a better chance of surviving the obstacles in life.

From murderers to offenders of all kinds,   punishment is the easy part,   preventing tragedies can happen and should happen.    That takes  more than a Breathalyzer and seeing if you can walk a straight line.    How much better will this world be with solutions and not grandstanding politicians and other nabobs using the moment for  personal gain.

Education is the key to everything.   Not just laws but helping people be better people.    Not projecting how good we are,  but how good we can all be,  if we just try.   Ghettos are going nowhere and neither are the homeless,  the drug users and other kinds of abusers.   Let’s get this done and stop maligning others.    The old speck and the log thing.

 

 

What we are, is who we are or what?

Sometimes the strange is truly stranger than fiction.   Like a Stephen King movie with it’s twists and turns or the drama in a Hitchcock movie.   No need for pointless choreography because the musings of the mind are incredible.

Below is hilarious and I am uncertain if management did this for effect or because he was talented.  Aye!

Sabres  v Maple Leafs

http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nhl-puck-daddy/satan-be-gone–miroslav-satan-calls-it-a-career-after-iihf-worlds-190438069.html

And of course no story would be complete and especially in this case,  because he played for:  The New Jersey Devils of the NHL.

And then the guy above teaches respect,  an attribute sorely lacking in a loud society but again,   who would have predicted that?

I hate the shows where dumb semi-celebrity slobs make asinine comments about silly souls who had no choice to be born so non-mainstream.    But these commentaries need no explanations as to moral character.

Our society has a field day bashing people who for one reason or another finds themselves the object of ridicule or even akin to modern day lepers.   Providence or whatever has placed us here and we didn’t have a heavenly dream sheet to pick our destination,  cognitive abilities or our own DNA.    It seems that nature and the inexplicable are invisible paradigms which compensate for injustice,  in many cases.

Let’s make the world a better place and I pray that we see that we can make a difference.   We are but a few but we can change a part of the world.   I remember seeing a semi-documentary about Los Angeles where minorities had a garden and the millionaire took that Oasis from them.

One morning the place was leveled by bulldozers and in spite of raising the money necessary to purchase,  the owner lied.   Several years later it is still untouched.  Probably a racial issue,  I am not sure but we can make a difference, if we want to.

EmilysQuotes.Com-amazing-great-positive-life-freedom-justice-honor-duty-mercy-hope-inspirational-Winston-Churchill

Quiet Desperation. Rewards Found in Shadows.

I feel pain and many times not even my own.   As a younger man I was working as a Forecaster at McGuire AFB in New Jersey.   One evening the weather observer blew past me and basically seemed to ignore me.   About an hour later she asked me how I knew something is wrong.    Her husband was high on crack and tried to shoot her with a shotgun.

I cannot remember how many times especially with females that I sensed this desperation.   A kind of pervasive fear that riddles with the soul with uncertainty and knowing that people do not understand.   Those who think they know depression and anxiety or to get over those things.

They assume much and without any comprehension of who I am and what I do for others.  The best medicine is compassion.   A feeling heart that is vulnerable but equipped.   It comes as no surprise at the misogyny directed at women and those perceived to be weak.   Most men could not bear pregnancy and yet they carp at women as the weaker sex.   We are both the weaker and stronger and we know what the rules are for that.

We struggle to find things we can color as black and white and a way of a common ground that makes us better,  whole and deluded.   Unfortunately there are the parasites who willfully and aggressively open up scars and believe they are doing good.

To those,  we just walk away,  confidently but with humility because this is an anathema to haters.   Knowing we know where they are coming from.   Two still equal two,  yet the contrary spirit inherent in all of us,  wishes to play the devil’s advocate.

The tears of a friend spent towards a person especially a man who is trusted is almost sacred.    A girl and a friend I knew in Germany was near suicidal following a rape and resultant pregnancy.   She was lost and afraid but I just listened and told her that it is her decision,  whether to keep or abort.   She said I was the only one who treated with real respect.   Not strong opinions and judgments and love that is platonic and still sexually charged.   Without the sex.  Trust.

She decided to not abort and the baby was given to a mixed couple who the Army decided could not have kids by other channels.   Here were people who touched my heart in different ways and all where touched by some kind of angel.   I need to find her again as this was long ago.

The point is that we should listen.  Drink in the moment and appreciate the flavors of experience which if decided to be shared are a nectar so sweet,  that is permeates our brains with compassion and heart.

Give me this.  Take to a place where prying eyes dim. ‘

Give me the honesty to know the time on the clock.

Take me to the door that blesses our entrance,

to the sublime nature of harmony and the steady beat of time.

Give me the mind and the heart to hear.

To move past the shadows

and into the purple throes that fill me with wonder.

sunnude

JungA

Sniping at Veterans. Media’s Left-wing agenda?

This has been talked about largely in military circles about collateral damage and the use of snipers.    But is this really about the victims of stray shots and the indiscriminate nature of explosives?

Inherent in war is the very real eventuality of innocent deaths.   Also inherent is the racist comments by veterans staring death in the eyes.    In a moment where it is kill or be killed.   Who here has been presented with the ultimatum of this kind?

So what this may boil down to is a snap judgement on the fly.  Whether to shoot or potentially  be shot.    You have teens and 20s giving themselves up for slaughter in many cases and when they do react, even in firefights,  there is the very real risk of hurting the innocent.

And remember,  fighting personnel are guns and boots on the ground or personnel in Base Towers directing air traffic in sorties, whose aim is incapacitating enemy strong holds.    The terrorists combatants become entrenched in the local communities as cover,  is mainly glossed over.   Risk losing someone because a dangerous criminal is cohabiting with innocent people or just walk away to fight another day?

I am a veteran but I was a Weather Forecaster and Observer.    The closest I got to a gun battle was my Atari or Nintendo.    In the long run my work could have implications on whether a battle is to ensue or sorties will fly.

Almost invariably fighting and support personnel do not want to die.   We do not want to lose our lives needlessly or take the life of an innocent.    To assume that is criminally-minded and speaks to me of hating the military because you do not like war.   Memo:   Veterans do not like war either.   Service members are the one’s with their butts on the line,  not the DOD and not the Pentagon.

During the Vietnam War Era,  there was a song called,  “Billy Don’t be a hero,  don’t be a fool with your life”.   When in the song,  his young girlfriend got the letter,  she just through it away.     Before anyone thinks they know what this is about,   join the military and go through the stress of service life.   Not just in war either but in the sense of a kid who fights loyally and from time to time is involved in something potentially wrong.

There are so many innocents in wars and this includes mainly young people with swords, knives and guns.   Talk to a parent who suffered this greatest tragedy or the politicians who engage our troops.  Talk to the Asian/Muslim who were in the way,  while cowards behead innocent lives for effect.

Muslims killingWHO IS RIGHT

WHO IS RIGHT tREX