Magical Melodies

Our Muses,  one by one, with no excuses become faint and are swallowd up by the ether.  Two by two,     we see what was and what will be.   Those two sets of footprints, washed away in time. Overlapping sentiments.  The tired rain,  cries.  The memory however,  like stranded leaves,  just out of reach.  A mom,  gives  birth to a brother or sister.  Something else to lose.

And with the ice,  the solid c0ld, and the snow, remain inert.  Frosty prologues with a cutting fog, stares back at us.  Fondly remembering. We cannot remember the song,  but we remember the words.  Like dangling participles and a candy cane on a tree.  The smell of cookies and ginger bread and the twinkling lights,  we pine for evergeen,  under a mistletoe and stolen kisses with the taste of pink reveries.  Childhood never dies in our prime, nor in the future on a bed of pillows.   Make this season be, with poetic  flames,  spreading the best of times,  the fragrance of beginnings, and the exit, with purity reestablished.

Snarky Sharks in a Fish Tank or a Silent Giving.

“Wise men speak because they have something to say; Fools because they have to say something.”

Plato

Watching the train wreck called ‘Nancy Grace’ I feel she is in other people’s personal space.    If it were not for the downside of humankind,  she could no longer embrace these dramas and shriek like a bloviating banshee bartering time for bits of gossip.   If she missteps,   her paths will be glacial thumbprints upon an arid land and her legacy will be those chains that Charles Dickens spoke of.

The gold standard of any objective is the bandage that stems the flow of further missteps.   Like a ‘Deer Crossing’ sign strategically located, a berm against recklessness and a speed bump for good measure.   Mercy for the deer and the pot of gold that is in each of us but seems so utterly far away,  so abstract and so transient.   So lost among the evil tree and thorny twig.

An example of tyranny might have been the fight between Tesla and Edison.   A thing that benefitted all of us was twisted and bent for an invention or the claims of it.   And as a legacy to true wit,  a withering white tombstone in the alternating sides of man.

Those I like to call gossips can take any truth,  co-opt it and then make themselves a martyr.   There are no intentions to mitigate suffering but to make a puppet show over the pain and sadness of others.   I cannot be part of this.   Like Tiger Woods,  what were the justifications?  Indeed,  he did run afoul of his wife and the sanctity of his commitment.   But this is no sin against me and he knows his commission all-too-well, but do we gather interest from it?   Is anyone’s life made better by this illicit banter? If so,  let me know where.

This kind of hyperbole masks over the sad Seraphim’s sigh,  this symbolism, this carnage, and  this, without a real tear in the sophist’s eye.    A funny little aside in a life full of contradictions,  idle passive expressions like “standing shoulder-to-shoulder”.    Sounding more like an electric fence grounded out in brackish water.

So now the Rebel Flag is the symbol of suffering and hate but does burning it’s alleged intentions put a meal on the table or correct a huge wrong?    Is Eric Garner coming back to us, like a Phoenix rising from it’s ashes,  who most likely is most worthy of pity?   Most deserving of our love?   Selling a cigarette,  and getting rich?  A headlock dreadlocked traded for a headstone.

The little miscreant who destroyed nine lives,   is fit for a hanging for the blood on his hands.   He represents no one but the brain-damaged and hateful ones.  No flag represents that any more than a potato chip being a vegetable.

From Casey Anthony,  to Foxy Knoxy,  the truth is hidden like a fiber optic wire in a sea of circuits.   We want witches so we can revile evil but every time we do so,    another alter ego appears like ragweed among us.   Another person to complain about.    From the deviancies of Jared,  to a man named Jed.   We have trouble keeping our boiling caldron fed.  With corpses of tiffany and trinkets of cubic zirconia we lavish both contempt and praise and not sure what witch is which.

So Nancy fires her salvos like a Gatling gun severing reality with a wag of her tongue.   If this drivel flooded our drive,  we would sandbag the river until we fixed the levees.    Let us find some good words to say about each other,   find food for the hungry,  clothes for the naked and hope for the hopeless.

My favorite commercials are the ones where we pay it forward or the ones where we see the good in each other.

If we put our minds to it,  Reality Shows and Gossip Shows would give way to feeding the entire world and maybe the cure for cancer or other diseases and to let others live without the need for slogans,  avenues or road blocks.   No more barbed-wire bounding both sinner and property but halos freely dispatched to a dying world and thirsty world.   No more cannons and no more experts.   No more pollen from poisonous plants and toxic people.

Better we mind our own business when that business has no place in our lives unless we wish to hug them or share our blessings.    Even an offender of whatever needs to be watered right or the bitterness of that root takes hold and diminishes us all.

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The last officer was killed just after helping a hungry boy.

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Ice-skating with Zebras! On the Thin Ice of Life!

The world can be a tricky place with thin spots in the ice while crumbling quite literally beneath our feet.    One person flaunts the fact gaining attention for their intrepidness.    This is a figurative ice and I will explain.   We all go through our moments of self-discovery.   Coming of age in our right without the knowledge of it beforehand.    It is one thing to hear the story of the Birds and the Bees and quite another to feel what we feel.

During my Junior High days there was a classmate who had sex outside of the old school next to the football stadium.  As stories go,  this sounded like a date rape fantasy of a pretty and innocent girl but none-the-less it was prurient in nature, a myth of the preteen years.    The same story-teller told of the time he had touched a classmate in the bathroom of her parent’s house.   One gets the idea here in Sixteen Candles and Molly Ringwald’s panties.    The sheer awe of the unknown and to the Devil with the details and how they affect others.

So using the skater analogy again let’s consider this ice.    A person decides to lie about something.   Perhaps that diving off a water tower into a shallow retention pond is safe.    The problem is not whether anyone has tested this out in reality but simply repeated old tales.    They may even say they have jumped,  while they have not.   Person B thinks they need some Street Cred and invariably suffer because of it.

The girl above did in fact move away but I never heard anything else about again.   As to the reason or reasons why and the alleged facts by a somewhat silly boy telling other silly boys lies.     And before anyone plays the Ace just be sure that there are still aces remaining.

We seem to operate at our best with someone to keep us in line.   And that when no one is looking,  when take something that is not ours,    The human condition,  I guess.

This all reminded me of the events during my school days and how these cracks in the ice,  happen to the innocent and who cries for the victims in life?    Like I saw at a Soup Kitchen,  where a relatively young man, dressed badly,  smelled worse and had a big wound on his neck that was soaked with blood.    He started acting out an the Deputy summarily threw him out.   A young woman at another table commented that he was not like that before going to Prison.

And in a movie I saw from one of the Baltic States where two young girls used their looks for advantage.   These were nothing more than jumping lines and getting boys to hold their books on the way home from school.   The more beautiful girl was able to fend off the lecherous older guy until one day she was kidnapped,  passed around and eventually decided to marry this POS.   Too young to be married,   her advantage slipped away.

Her more conservative girlfriend stopped her from using her gun on her husband who murdered her ex boyfriend for no other reason than jealousy.   The conservative girl went to the wedding while loathing the miscreant who forced a young girl into a bad situation.     The more modest girl started to dance a very ethnic dance with adult movements and wowed the revellers and I guess were enamored.   Anyway, part of life for women around the world is this kind of subjective justice and it sucks.     The pressure of being weaker doubles down when their very utility is neutralized by seedy creeps and bullies.

For those who can be a hero,  do it.

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.

 

 

Forbidden Victim.

I was so in lust that purity and licentiousness intermingled.   A strange concoction of guilt and a road never traveled.   All the sweat but none of the auroras that surge inside of me.    Her look was electric.   It pulled my willing self nearer to the spot where I belonged.

Yet innocence challenged the moment,   the soft refrain echoed like a chemical chimera waiting to devour it’s young prey.     As she pulled me in she got me to a new place.   I was the hunted man-child,  every cougar’s tender morsel.    I was like veal in a cage of happenstance hurling trinkets into the abyss.

The tide was high and the rush of the wind compounded the fury of that soft parade.  Pushing past the lapping waves of crescendo,   I was lost.  Emotions tighter than a manic  harp,  playing it’s own mischievous chord like the grunts of an obese oboe in a band playing it’s own tunes.

Harmony and biology and the conquest of same,  a boy victim without a name.   Lost near a buoy my eyes glassed over and now I searched for a ship to pull me in.   Proudly vanquished,  I smiled.   My story would change as I increased my wile.   She is a battered gown,  with icing reminders of a sweetness turned sour.

No,  this is not a requiem but a mooring to few or many docks.   The bright young adventurer did not want a curtain call for the young man had given his all.

Wooden Monuments.

 

 

 

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I am building a tower and it will be built upon by the hands of time.    It will be finessed and  the etchings carved into marbleized histories,  remnants left for consideration.   A bored scholar will scribe his articulations on paper and artists upon the heart  sometimes with words and other times shades of different colors.

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Our passions darken as our own freedom gives us license.   To establish who we are and why we should matter.

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The dimming lights provide sanctuary  for secrets held within,  while the new trees bear the same old fruit.   Replacing antiquity with green limbs envious.    Accounts will be altered,  values distorted like a warped window or a cracked mirror.    Only tiny shards indiscernible will collect dust.   The hammering thoughts of preservation are to no avail.  The ebb and flow of matter reconstitutes itself.    Aware of nothing but it’s new place,  neither the checkered foster homes of neglected souls or the random insects in their constabularies.    New kings and queens arise,  like heaving opportunists secure in that moment only.

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Willingness gives way to wood,  brick and dust and from these new houses are made.   New conflicts arise and the sentient drama of conflicting self wills lay about and scattered by Zephyrs and Foehn.    Tears drip from random placements like lost toys of our youth,  neither material or a ether  just an unnoticed stroke of a pen and a purchase.

The final revolution spins to a stop and the cul-de-sac of expectancy gives way to a somber recollection.   Momentary gratitude and an appointment looming,  breaks the shadow of what once was and will never be again.

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Meet Mr. Daddy 2007

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Last night as I was perusing Hulu Plus,   when I happened across the Korean movie,  ‘Meet Mr. Daddy’.    In this movie’  Joon’ is a sickly child who wants to be with her daddy,   who happens to be a small-time  petty criminal who gets in over his head with unscrupulous gangster boss.   The dad who got arrested by the police was given an option of being a father with a stipend in lieu of incarceration.

The dubious dad thus picks up the guantlet with litte intention of really doing the right thing.    However the charms of a young girl and their need of a dad certainly can work magic and this movie did.

In a roller coaster ride of highs and lows,  little Miss Seo Shin Ae (joon)  manages to change the heart of a down and out miscreant who learns what love is and utlimately becomes a dad to this sweet baby.    She was around seven years old and sick however she shares something with her because they both like soccer and she predicts a Korean win.

Rather than say too much,   I just to say how this obviously simple plot surprised with little Joon providing a few laughs and a dogged determination to find happiness.   With all the rancor of Adrian Peterson and his young son,   I am perplexed by the simple-minded hate directed at this father who went too far.   However just as in this movie,  life is about second chances.

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The greatest judge of us will be our kids and since I lost one kid just after birth and another was missing for fifteen years,   I get angry with outsiders who cannot seem to understand that is NOT about the reader of these news events but the victims all the way around.    This movie highlights the need for embracing life while we still have it.

Finally,  this movie kind of snookers you into a sense of bland drama with a dynamic conclusion and why girls need a loving and doting father.   The exchange of blessings is a private matter between imperfect parents and affectionate little ones.

This movie is a must-see.   So let us cast off the pride that immediately wants to destroy people’s lives and work on your own relationships and see what kids can see and parents can learn.    It is not too late!!