Feeling Like a Rock!

I am feeling like an avalanche coming.    The smallest tremor to set me off.  Don’t get me wrong,  I am not considering any self-harm, to me or to others.  The shadows are coming again,  slowly,  but steadily.  One or two  of these are in ‘living color’.  Shadows of doubt,  panic attacks, like a Tsunami.   I hear the roar,  waters that creep and fill me,  with pains of high and Low Tides.

I have thought of my new name.  Do you like it? It was pretty racist to behold.  I have shanks of poetry,  misplaced grammar and enough hubris to weigh me down.  But rather I wish to find a copper coin.  I wish to elucidate,  on a lily pad called destiny.  I want to pick away the burrs.  To the Longfellow chaps.   I want to find a nuance and let it work for all of us.  Not a twenty and definitely not a line for ghouls.  I want to make mince meat into pies.  Not lines of craters nor lines of white.  I wish to find… and destroy it.  I wish for them to grow.  Not in some rusty hole.  I pray that these come to pass.

It is the dawn of anxiety,  I see my head floating downstream.  Portable Sinkholes,  elaborating,  roiling downward,  and making life ‘like a buoy’, a respite from the darkest downs.

A song, a note,   reveries with plumb lines,  like spider webs twisted.  Sometimes the emotions are overwrought, with their own insanity, glossed over but not forgotten.  Let us play harpsichords and twing a violin.  Let’s stop the wrong kind of thing.  Planting history with falling leaves.

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The Things that Really Matter

In the next few months,  we will be embarking on a quest to house homeless Veterans.  This will be no easy feat,  but it is achievable.  The biggest and best hope is an informed people, who lay aside political hyperbole and false narratives.  But what are these narratives?  What are the options?

Feeding our own poor,  who truly do need our help.  Not senseless rioting, raping women and girls.  Money that goes to the various social dichotomies,  SAIN kits and policies that help victims of those heinous crimes.  It is the women who suffer the vagaries by deed, police interviews and the court.

Ex-President Obama,  was big on campaign promises (immigration) and short on real initiatives.  The choke point was the Sequester. Well what about it?  Nestled in these obtuse proclamations,  was money that was diverted to (illegals, healthcare reform and the fish that saved Pittsburgh).   None of these were Republican issues per se, but they are real.

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The bargaining chip was the suspension of military pay and benefits.   Paring away needed support and doing an end run.  Two billion dollars which were earmarked for Veterans and to the VA , to pay for illegals.  Americans are watching us.  What are doing,  what is being done?  Nadda and more of that nada.

The people that matter and the funds to get this done.   Not five hundred dollar handshakes, the release sensitive documents and rapes that go unpunished.

More is going is to be said and done. Coming very soon.

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The old school.

Long,  long ago,  I had a breath-taking affair,  that went quite unrequited.  This affair was my secret dalliance,  her name was Sarah,I pined for Sarah and occasionally,  she would sweetly,  smile or hugged me.  That was tantamount to, an intimate moment.   Accordingly I often fantasized about her.  She was friendly,  as I said,  and I lost my faux virginity, in a blaze of glory.

Then,  Eureka, we had a date.    I was so passive-aggressive, so shy,   but she,   in  her days of in a one-sided relationship, constantly hurt, waiting for him to call.   I had a song to always remind me,  of her.   “Day after day.”  I was, lonely  but hopeful.  So it was not only me  but her as well.   I was the better guy,  at least, to me.

I know that sounds,  crazy, but that is the way it was.  So, I started seeing others surrogates for a time.  These nice girls were surrogate lovers.   I finally found another a girl,  in fact,  she was more than that,   she became my first hard copy girlfriend. She was beautiful with long black hair, cascading down to her lower back.   She was an heir to my affections.  We cuddled,  held hands and went to the Senior Prom.   She and I remained constant, but my going into the service,  was just too much.   It was hard, but life goes on.

My virginity was willfully taken by a young woman,  about my age.  One evening,  I am going home,  and I had an epiphany,   She wants more than someone to watch  T.V. with.  I was happy and nervous, at the same time.   I was 24,  going on 25.  She was sitting in my lap,  those,  ministrations,  wooed me.  Her eyes holding me prisoner and that was it.   My aut0-erotica partly banished.    Like Steve Martin,  I had my purpose!!!   lol,

She upset me,  as we were driving back towards the base. She was complaining about something and I yelled at her. She felt guilty and so did I, eventually.   When I went back to weather school,  she was constantly calling ME and it felt rather good.  I was going through,  a delayed puberty,  with hormones holding  me at bay,  and it felt like ‘The Stockholm Syndrome.’  Who was I to complain?   I remember that she  and I, were bowling.   I sucked,  and she had games of 240 and 260.   I bowled a 140 game.   Some guy was watching us, and said,  “she should go pro”.  I said, “she already is.”

I did see Sarah again.  She and I went to breakfast and I said to her,  “let’s take a trip to Fayetteville, Arkansas”.    This was spontaneous and it was cool!  We had a great time!  Though short-lived,  because she had to have surgery.  I was on a roll.  She told me,  “What you need,  you have already found.”  Meaning her,  but my shyness,  cost me, something very special.   Life goes on.

Up and down, like a pregnant pause, that having more than one context. and for another time.  Now, as certain as death and Texas!  lol.  You feel me?   Anyhow, this subtext is beautiful. Back on Earth!

I always wanted to visit my old church,  but not at about 11:00 PM…  Needless, to say I did!!   Of course, the Minister had since passed away.   There are  a lot of memories in that real estate and more are to come.      As I scan across the street,  I see the old high school and I start walking slowly.   The cool air penetrates my armor as I continue on.

About half-way to the school,   I stop!   I notice a place where we used to ice skate. Unfortunately for me, I on my back with realizing,  any kind of skating is not my bailiwick.   Memories of first love was imprinted on my emotions.  The Gazebo and the ice rink still there.

Curiously,  I notice,  that the front entrance is slightly ajar.  As I approach,  there is a kind of de-Ja Vu.   My heart races, as I step inside, a war room of hormones,  full of peace and the irrevocable heat of days now irretrievably gone.     Now my life gets weirder.  A warm breeze now replaces the coldness outside.  I notice a locker,  with a lock and it is secure.    The combination lock has to be least, sixty years old!

As I notice, a combination lock and  as I twirl the dial, I hit the jackpot. The lock opens with a click and the locker door comes open.  I look below and then above.  On the upper shelves are a few books,  neatly arranged and I reach for the highest, of them.   As I open that book, the card with the names of past owners are faded but the dates still discernable.  On the back of the card are a few more names and below,  is a kind of message,  that I assume is addressed to someone.

I return the book  to it’s original place,  shut the locker and fasten the lock.   As I turn around, the door across the hall is cracked.  The old classroom door squeaks open.  A few of the original desks are decorated with love notes, etched into the wood.  As I look around,  I see an empty bed.  It is meticulously made,  with a white comforter, with tiny red Wolverines.

A paradox now happens.  Where it was hot, it is suddenly  very hot, with a light cooler breeze that meets my face.  I follow the draft to the bed,  where I repose and laying there,  I fall into a dream,  where a smiling face, greets me.  All of a sudden,  I feel a warm pair of lips on my own.  Not sure if this were a dream or the real thing,  I see a face.   It is much older but has a face I do not recall,  but as the light becomes lighter,  I recognize an angel, putting a hand over my mouth and whispering.  “Where have you been?   All of a sudden,   the face appears clearer and I mention her name out loud.

Many years had passed,  but it was like yesterday.  Of faces familiar and in a school I never attended,  but it all comes back.   A sea of words,  replaced by our awestruck faces;  we together and say,  “how have you been?”  She just smiles!