William Watkins was leaving again. He stared in the mirror at his wrinkled face. He looked tired. Harriet sat behind him, face gray, staring at the floor. Neither said a word. He turned out of the bathroom kissing her forehead. She did not look up but said, I love you.
His mouth curved up in a content smile. I’m leaving, he said. She looked up, a tear-streaked face. She smiled slightly as her hands grasped his right hand, slowly stroking it. I hope it’s a good trip, she said. He nodded, picking up his suitcase. Its weight made him lean to the left. He walked through the front door, stopping to admire the large flowering Willow tree in their front yard.
The cab took him to the rail yard where he punched in, said hello and goodbye and got on his locomotive. The midday sun beat in through the window, baking him. He put his suitcase down and opened it to find his sunscreen. His stomach dropped as the top of the suitcase opened. Tears crept into his eye.
Willie Williamson couldn’t remember how many trains he’d jumped in his life. The warm buzz of a West Virginia spring wind made the train rides more like a dream. He thought about the years he’s spent as a hobo, the women he’s passed up because this was his life, his mother’s harsh words as he left at sixteen and the way his father had beat him for forgetting to steal cigarettes for him at the gas station.
Willie scoffed as this latter experience replayed itself dramatically in his memory. He lit his own cigarette. The trucks and trains and tractors of the world had become his sanctuary. There was no one to trust and no one to love and no obligations out here. Why put faith in anything?
He hated coming home yet he did so every spring. The sun twinkled in the midday sky as the train hastened through the tobacco fields. He shivered and reached in his pocket to look at the envelope he had received at the mission. He hadn’t opened it yet. The name on the return address read William Williamson, Sr. His father never sent him anything and knew he would be visiting in spring as he always did. The envelope tore easily and ten one hundred dollar bills tumbled out. He tucked them in his jacket pocket. His eyes grew wet as he read.
William’s tears fell into the suitcase as he read. I do not understand your wanderlust and don’t believe I will ever be the perfect person for you at this time in your life. The good times we shared are passed. I will miss you but I don’t love you anymore. Goodbye William. Harriet. William took the controls while reading, the train lurching forward, knowing he would likely never return to Charleston.
Willie’s eyes dripped onto the letter as he read. Your mother and I have never understood your wanderlust and I was never a perfect person. I just want to say I am sorry. I hope we can have some good times before I pass away. Hope to hear from you soon. William Sr. Willie felt relief for the first time in his life and took up his small pack as the train slowed. A thin smile on his lips and tears in his eyes.
He looked up to see a tearful conductor creep past and wave in comradery. Willie raised his hand as well. Tears fell across West Virginia.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Anxiety of Feeling
Under the blue tent, square hay bales line the perimeter and sun shines as sticky children chase each other. I watch, docile and dreaming. A playful dog runs past followed by a little girl in a white and pink dress. The tent shudders in the wind. A child stumbles and falls into a hay bale. Does fear lie in mortality? That the wonder around us is relatively unconcerned with who and what and where we are. The understanding that life is unknown, even if you are Billy Graham or Buddha or Da Vinci. Does fear lie in the unknown, unknowable and the unseen? I don’t know.
Everyone says when you have enough happiness nothing else matters. When you surround yourself with good energy you will always be happy. That's crap. I’ve had happiness. I’ve had joy beyond joy and I’ve enjoyed the trust of love but happiness cannot be trained. It cannot be taught. It cannot be forced. Without sadness and melancholy there would be no dreams. There would be no art. There would be no life. No freedom. In only a few souls does the desire for freedom hang from their stomach like a hook from a line. In others too, so rare, so far removed from the world, does the desire for justice leak like puss from a wound. The silent sadness that lingers in their eyes stands as a rare testament of humanity. Their thanks from God and the gods and society is as rare as an albino butterfly. Their tears leak into pillowcases of pitiable honesty but it is this tenderness that carries humanity forward.
And I feel this sadness now as I watch a child dig a hole. His fingernails crumbling with dirt and mud, white shirt streaked with finger-painted mud marks. I feel sorry for him. I hope he does not have this pain, the anxieties and fears and hopes and dreams. I hope he blends in and feels wanted. But for me, for my soul, anxiety roams like a feral cat and the question resounds, why am I tortured and to what end will my soul be healed?
There is little doubt this torture comes from the fact that we think we live in glorious movies while sitting on front porches watching cars lumber past as cicadas play the dramatic soundtrack. Each day is one film containing many tragic comedies subtly undertoned with death. That the last movie cigarette will keep us alive, even if we don‘t want it. It’s smoke circles into the air and descends out of our sight like a ball over the fence. And cars drive past, its occupants slow silhouettes. Some stare back, perhaps wondering what memories lie in our souls and when we make eye contact they look away as if hungry alligators tremble at their feet. A pink-orange sky throbes behind their car while the sun sets and ants scatter. Knowledge of existence engulfs us while we try to mask it with alcohol, but existence keeps reminding us after 365 films that we are getting old. Ten years fade and another ten diminish into cemeteries where we expect to be remembered for TV, video games and golf scores.
The child who had fallen into the hay bale screams as her cheeks glisten with wetness in the sunlight. Her mother runs over to offer comfort and soon the sobs subside and the child quickly on her way around the tent again. How quickly we regress pain. I suppose it is our greatest defense mechanism. But why not embrace it? Why don’t we enlist all our passions into one grand army within our soul, happinness stands next to melancholy, tears next to cheek-cracking smiles, and tell our fears, anxieties and depression to stand as it were and fight alongside our joys? It is this I intend to embrace within these entries. To experience dreariness for its own sake and to laugh with it, fight it and embrace it. But most of all I want to live.
Everyone says when you have enough happiness nothing else matters. When you surround yourself with good energy you will always be happy. That's crap. I’ve had happiness. I’ve had joy beyond joy and I’ve enjoyed the trust of love but happiness cannot be trained. It cannot be taught. It cannot be forced. Without sadness and melancholy there would be no dreams. There would be no art. There would be no life. No freedom. In only a few souls does the desire for freedom hang from their stomach like a hook from a line. In others too, so rare, so far removed from the world, does the desire for justice leak like puss from a wound. The silent sadness that lingers in their eyes stands as a rare testament of humanity. Their thanks from God and the gods and society is as rare as an albino butterfly. Their tears leak into pillowcases of pitiable honesty but it is this tenderness that carries humanity forward.
And I feel this sadness now as I watch a child dig a hole. His fingernails crumbling with dirt and mud, white shirt streaked with finger-painted mud marks. I feel sorry for him. I hope he does not have this pain, the anxieties and fears and hopes and dreams. I hope he blends in and feels wanted. But for me, for my soul, anxiety roams like a feral cat and the question resounds, why am I tortured and to what end will my soul be healed?
There is little doubt this torture comes from the fact that we think we live in glorious movies while sitting on front porches watching cars lumber past as cicadas play the dramatic soundtrack. Each day is one film containing many tragic comedies subtly undertoned with death. That the last movie cigarette will keep us alive, even if we don‘t want it. It’s smoke circles into the air and descends out of our sight like a ball over the fence. And cars drive past, its occupants slow silhouettes. Some stare back, perhaps wondering what memories lie in our souls and when we make eye contact they look away as if hungry alligators tremble at their feet. A pink-orange sky throbes behind their car while the sun sets and ants scatter. Knowledge of existence engulfs us while we try to mask it with alcohol, but existence keeps reminding us after 365 films that we are getting old. Ten years fade and another ten diminish into cemeteries where we expect to be remembered for TV, video games and golf scores.
The child who had fallen into the hay bale screams as her cheeks glisten with wetness in the sunlight. Her mother runs over to offer comfort and soon the sobs subside and the child quickly on her way around the tent again. How quickly we regress pain. I suppose it is our greatest defense mechanism. But why not embrace it? Why don’t we enlist all our passions into one grand army within our soul, happinness stands next to melancholy, tears next to cheek-cracking smiles, and tell our fears, anxieties and depression to stand as it were and fight alongside our joys? It is this I intend to embrace within these entries. To experience dreariness for its own sake and to laugh with it, fight it and embrace it. But most of all I want to live.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Dandelion
I went for a walk today
A dandelion seed ran into my chest
Before I said farewell and picked it off
I said,
Little seed float yourself above
Away from the raspy concrete
The friendless mirrored black roads
The hectic streets of commerce
Float yourself over the semi-trailers
The smoking automobiles
Their charcoal tailpipes
And cruise control pollution
Float yourself through the concrete and glass towers
Weave among birds through avenues
Little seed plant yourself
Reinvigorate us
Show your yellow bosom
Your unmistakable hue
Little seed take back this world
For the oak, maple and juniper
Little seed float yourself into the ground
Bury your tip into crevices
So that we may see again
Take over this world that kills
Little seed grow yourself
Without fertilizers
Between traffic lights
Be brave!
The dotted white lines
Yellow lines
As you know assassination awaits
Show the natureless who owns what
Little seed kill the artificial nature
Of parks gardens zoos
In retail stores who profit from your brethren
Lend your voice to the grapevine
Let it engulf everything that destroyed you
Eat and be merry
Among shopping carts
Plastic wrap that rolls around your stalk
Float yourself away
Little seed float above clouds
Float yourself away
A dandelion seed ran into my chest
Before I said farewell and picked it off
I said,
Little seed float yourself above
Away from the raspy concrete
The friendless mirrored black roads
The hectic streets of commerce
Float yourself over the semi-trailers
The smoking automobiles
Their charcoal tailpipes
And cruise control pollution
Float yourself through the concrete and glass towers
Weave among birds through avenues
Little seed plant yourself
Reinvigorate us
Show your yellow bosom
Your unmistakable hue
Little seed take back this world
For the oak, maple and juniper
Little seed float yourself into the ground
Bury your tip into crevices
So that we may see again
Take over this world that kills
Little seed grow yourself
Without fertilizers
Between traffic lights
Be brave!
The dotted white lines
Yellow lines
As you know assassination awaits
Show the natureless who owns what
Little seed kill the artificial nature
Of parks gardens zoos
In retail stores who profit from your brethren
Lend your voice to the grapevine
Let it engulf everything that destroyed you
Eat and be merry
Among shopping carts
Plastic wrap that rolls around your stalk
Float yourself away
Little seed float above clouds
Float yourself away
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Maybe
Maybe it’s my aquarian hope and humanitarianism. Maybe it’s because I have some sort of insomnia and depression. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t belong here, among this corporate world of greed and amidst flying accusations demanding that everyone be perfectly attuned to everyone else. Maybe it’s the insults and insensitivity on every corner. Maybe it’s that everyone seems to hate everyone else with all their gossip and back talking. Maybe it’s because I’m just angry at it all and cannot choose just one simple thing to fight because it’s all lawless. Every inch of false justice that parades itself in cars that read “To protect and serve” and government department’s fictitiously entitled “justice”. Whatever it is it makes me sad.
I can’t explain it. But I know that I’m tired of the insensitivity, injustice, false advertisements and gossip directed toward our fellow human beings. There is no one in particular I am referencing but I want each person who reads this to understand, I am attempting to no longer act in this way. There are certain reasons for this, some spiritual but mostly because treatment of people should be respectful. If you do not find someone agreeable with your inner self, your choice should be to separate ties with them unless it is family and I’m sorry to say, you must accept the fact that this person will be in your life indefinitely. For those in this situation, it should be noted that while certain aspects of the relationship are disagreeable, there is something that you find acceptable or even likeable about the person. If you cannot find a trait you enjoy, try everything in your power to feel empathy for this person.
I am not above criticism, because none of us are better than our neighbor and I caution against use of knowledge to make others appear unintelligent. It angers me and I wish it did not enrage me so when people treat me condescendingly. I find it disrespectful and unkind. But I am guilty of it. In the future I will attempt to view those who do not share my knowledge as someone who knows more than I do about something and perhaps I may meet them in some other place to gain their advice. Knowledge really is power and power is dangerous. I find this world extremely unfair especially when power is given to those with arrogance. Police officers and politicians seem to abuse power the most. And among those, each one was born, each one has a conscience and each one will die. Attributes we all share. It is for these reasons my respect for mankind lay in their humanism. I do not respect class distinctions nor titles nor power.
The president is my equal. The police chief is my equal. The homeless are my equal. I also do not recognize countries when told I cannot go somewhere I am aghast because if not for us, who is this entire globe for? Aren’t we all flesh and blood and mind? Why are there borders and green cards and passports? We should all be free to do as we wish and go where we wish. Alas, there are those for whom true freedom would allow abuse and for this I am upset. If we are all part of this world why must we destroy it and each other?
Maybe it’s respect for life. Maybe it’s simply that compassion is generated all around us in the trees and animals and sun and moon. Maybe it’s the ‘little things’ I see from time to time. Maybe it’s the small acts of genuine helpfulness and self-sacrifice that some offer to others. Maybe these truths are the small things that keep me going. Maybe it’s that I care enough to keep trudging along in an attempt to dispel all the mindless, ridiculous myths about the darkness of mankind that keeps me going. Maybe it’s that I want to be a better person for myself and for this universe.
I can’t explain it. But I know that I’m tired of the insensitivity, injustice, false advertisements and gossip directed toward our fellow human beings. There is no one in particular I am referencing but I want each person who reads this to understand, I am attempting to no longer act in this way. There are certain reasons for this, some spiritual but mostly because treatment of people should be respectful. If you do not find someone agreeable with your inner self, your choice should be to separate ties with them unless it is family and I’m sorry to say, you must accept the fact that this person will be in your life indefinitely. For those in this situation, it should be noted that while certain aspects of the relationship are disagreeable, there is something that you find acceptable or even likeable about the person. If you cannot find a trait you enjoy, try everything in your power to feel empathy for this person.
I am not above criticism, because none of us are better than our neighbor and I caution against use of knowledge to make others appear unintelligent. It angers me and I wish it did not enrage me so when people treat me condescendingly. I find it disrespectful and unkind. But I am guilty of it. In the future I will attempt to view those who do not share my knowledge as someone who knows more than I do about something and perhaps I may meet them in some other place to gain their advice. Knowledge really is power and power is dangerous. I find this world extremely unfair especially when power is given to those with arrogance. Police officers and politicians seem to abuse power the most. And among those, each one was born, each one has a conscience and each one will die. Attributes we all share. It is for these reasons my respect for mankind lay in their humanism. I do not respect class distinctions nor titles nor power.
The president is my equal. The police chief is my equal. The homeless are my equal. I also do not recognize countries when told I cannot go somewhere I am aghast because if not for us, who is this entire globe for? Aren’t we all flesh and blood and mind? Why are there borders and green cards and passports? We should all be free to do as we wish and go where we wish. Alas, there are those for whom true freedom would allow abuse and for this I am upset. If we are all part of this world why must we destroy it and each other?
Maybe it’s respect for life. Maybe it’s simply that compassion is generated all around us in the trees and animals and sun and moon. Maybe it’s the ‘little things’ I see from time to time. Maybe it’s the small acts of genuine helpfulness and self-sacrifice that some offer to others. Maybe these truths are the small things that keep me going. Maybe it’s that I care enough to keep trudging along in an attempt to dispel all the mindless, ridiculous myths about the darkness of mankind that keeps me going. Maybe it’s that I want to be a better person for myself and for this universe.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Rain (Ode to Jack)
The rain. It sounds like a far away train. Swishing swashing constant buzz of distant bell muffled friction marching bastardly back. Back down south to the ocean. Under this dark dysfunctional night in the pre-winter of midwest it scowls howls melancholy drips the billowing blowing wind wasping away fresh filth leaving a blanket of wet winter mist. Walking back inside the gutters play jazz Kerouac’s jazz fluttering and fidgeting for that beat. That beat. The beat of haunting lyrics and lusty tunes that make you wanna take off your clothes and get naked and wet and weary-drunk in new childlike feelings while at the same time undoing everything you ever dreamed of in this dumb damned adult life. The tune slackens the trumpet player plays a sad tune about some fellow standing at the window watching…watching rain jade and splatter concrete slabs dripping delicately off leaves. The window lets a million drops play tag. Some stick and hang they don’t wanna let go. Some just can’t wait to get to the bottom and mix with all the other melancholy drops it’s ecstasy! The ones who just stand staring in tired weary wet eyes at all the casual confusing commotion of life and what it’s supposed to be and what it is and how it’s wrong but nobody ever fucking listens will always wonder. And there ain’t a damn thing they can do. It’s all in vain and they can’t whatta or wanna do anything everyone does ‘cause nobody wants to go nobody wants to live life right anymore. We are all the rain when we die.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Destructive Inventions
With seemless precision the machines create vehicles that give pleasure and ambition, hope and transportation, fast and gentle rides, efficiency and freedom. These same creations lend themselves to environmental concerns and ethical considerations, familial ruin and destruction, criminal intent and incendiary action, death and murder, worldwide genocide and strife. These vehicles have survived in our world for over one hundred years. Their creation was intended for faster, more efficient transportation. Their population has escalated higher than even mankinds. There are as many variations as there are the mammals which they destroy. Ferraris and Fords, Volkswagens and Valiants, Chevrolets and Customs, Plymouths and Panteras, Toyotas and Trailblazers, Chryslers and Chevy IIs. While I love them for their speed and efficiency, I also hate them for all the pain, suffering, death and environmental problems they cause. Humanity hinges on their daily use and possibly its own mortality.
As we all learned in our secular educations (assuming you attended such a horrendous establishment), Henry Ford invented an ingenious design, the assembly line. Despite its overusage, in it’s time it was a revolutionary design. Each man was assigned a particular job, put the heads on the engine, put the engine in the vehicle, put the fenders on, affix the headlights, etc. The pay was good and provided plenty of jobs. Naturally people of all walks flocked to see and obtain these creations called automobiles. First they were a sign of affluence and then slowly, due mainly to Ford’s assembly line, prices decreased and the middle class became owners. As time went by, the poor were given the opportunity to buy older models for inexpensive prices.
The success of this cycle of hand-me-downs is that it promotes recycling. The downside is that older vehicles often carry with them costly repairs and maintenance, and although the poor historically acquire vehicles by “hand-me-downs“, they have also discovered the evil of loaning money (title loans, bank loans, even family loans). The loan problem is a manipulative monkey and may possibly become another essay, but for now I’ll just say that the poor are poor because of the very institutions from which they are borrowing. They have already been plagued by corporate America and used by the rich, and now they must worry about the loans, insurance, repairs and maintenance that automobiles entail. Unfortunately there does not appear to be any change in the mindset of the poor or the middle class for that matter. Borrowing is the norm.
The government itself seems to be leading the charge in favor of automobile ownership by continually building roads and bridges and forcing taxes and registration fees upon auto owners. Only in cities that one may safely bike or walk and use public transit can a person become exempt from the multiple, neverending fees that automobiles entail. In addition to cost factors incurred by the average American, pollution and environmental concerns abound. From petroleum to tires to deterioration vehicles have spiked ozone levels, killed animals, are the cause of numerous fatal accidents (DUI and others) and the cause of genocide in an attempt to bring each of us advertisments of fun and sexiness, reliability and convenience.
There have been countless lives lost due to petroleum usage and if there is any doubt in your mind just look at the history of the Middle East. The loss of human lives may actually not be as staggering (number-wise) as the loss of animal life, especially on a grand scale. Many of you can probably remember an oil spill off a coast somewhere and as we all know these oil spills kill many species of life each time they occur and there is no way to assure ourselves that these spills cannot happen, merely safety measures. The seals and whales, birds and fish are only renewable to a certain point. Natural selection assures this, there is only time (and it is running out) for these creatures.
Global warming, once a ridiculous idea, has now been embraced by many people and is part of the “green” phenomenon that now sweeps our culture. In reality, we should have been paying attention as a society that we were creating unhealthy atmospheres for ourselves and our animals. It seems that society cares only about itself and enjoys the spectacle of zoos and animals in the wild, but will not collectively assume responsibility for its destructive actions. When polar bears and penguins are only seen in zoos and not in the wild, who will notice? There has been so much depersonalization of nature (albeit very educational and addictive channels, National Geographic and Discovery depersonalize nature to such a point that people become so intimate with nature that they think of big cats and bears as cuddly and/or simply objects of another film makers dream) that we cannot even fathom the reasons for their existence or their role in the food chain. We have reduced them to objects and created enigmatic, futile, deranged dreams of them roaming in our backyards, seeing them as interesting to stare at and nothing more. They are viewable at the zoo so why not just bring them all into zoos, out of their habitats, trapped in cages and fed already dead carcasses?
Putting aside polar bears and global warming for a moment, in our very backyards (i.e. the woods and forests, deserts and plains of America) there are concerns lurking beyond the treelines. There lie dead, rotting, leaking machines, dumped by some individual who had no other option or knowledge of how to dispose of their vehicle. You’ve seen them on hikes or walks or drives through the country, rusty bulks laying off the beaten path, cold, lonely, yet somehow nostalgic, tall grass growing around it and through the hole which was once the windshield. There are graveyards of tires and there are tire fires every year and then there are the junkyards. Hulks of dead automobiles lie on top of, beside, under and around other dying brothers and sisters in mass graves that could be someone’s home or simply empty land. But instead, these yards harbour the dead and even pawn of their pieces for profit.
These problems are environmental, humanistic, economical and ethical. What must happen before we realize as a society that automobiles are the single worse and destructive inventions ever created? Dare I say the worst invention in modern history? The spread of the green movement is a good start, but is the start too late? Manufacturers continue to search for alternative fuels and laws continue to be passed and created to curb traffic accidents. But the truth is, none of that is the cure. The cure lies in the resounding voice of the people and if that voice does not reject what is unethical (which I predict will not happen) I will simply pose the question, have we not any dignity or respect for our world?
As we all learned in our secular educations (assuming you attended such a horrendous establishment), Henry Ford invented an ingenious design, the assembly line. Despite its overusage, in it’s time it was a revolutionary design. Each man was assigned a particular job, put the heads on the engine, put the engine in the vehicle, put the fenders on, affix the headlights, etc. The pay was good and provided plenty of jobs. Naturally people of all walks flocked to see and obtain these creations called automobiles. First they were a sign of affluence and then slowly, due mainly to Ford’s assembly line, prices decreased and the middle class became owners. As time went by, the poor were given the opportunity to buy older models for inexpensive prices.
The success of this cycle of hand-me-downs is that it promotes recycling. The downside is that older vehicles often carry with them costly repairs and maintenance, and although the poor historically acquire vehicles by “hand-me-downs“, they have also discovered the evil of loaning money (title loans, bank loans, even family loans). The loan problem is a manipulative monkey and may possibly become another essay, but for now I’ll just say that the poor are poor because of the very institutions from which they are borrowing. They have already been plagued by corporate America and used by the rich, and now they must worry about the loans, insurance, repairs and maintenance that automobiles entail. Unfortunately there does not appear to be any change in the mindset of the poor or the middle class for that matter. Borrowing is the norm.
The government itself seems to be leading the charge in favor of automobile ownership by continually building roads and bridges and forcing taxes and registration fees upon auto owners. Only in cities that one may safely bike or walk and use public transit can a person become exempt from the multiple, neverending fees that automobiles entail. In addition to cost factors incurred by the average American, pollution and environmental concerns abound. From petroleum to tires to deterioration vehicles have spiked ozone levels, killed animals, are the cause of numerous fatal accidents (DUI and others) and the cause of genocide in an attempt to bring each of us advertisments of fun and sexiness, reliability and convenience.
There have been countless lives lost due to petroleum usage and if there is any doubt in your mind just look at the history of the Middle East. The loss of human lives may actually not be as staggering (number-wise) as the loss of animal life, especially on a grand scale. Many of you can probably remember an oil spill off a coast somewhere and as we all know these oil spills kill many species of life each time they occur and there is no way to assure ourselves that these spills cannot happen, merely safety measures. The seals and whales, birds and fish are only renewable to a certain point. Natural selection assures this, there is only time (and it is running out) for these creatures.
Global warming, once a ridiculous idea, has now been embraced by many people and is part of the “green” phenomenon that now sweeps our culture. In reality, we should have been paying attention as a society that we were creating unhealthy atmospheres for ourselves and our animals. It seems that society cares only about itself and enjoys the spectacle of zoos and animals in the wild, but will not collectively assume responsibility for its destructive actions. When polar bears and penguins are only seen in zoos and not in the wild, who will notice? There has been so much depersonalization of nature (albeit very educational and addictive channels, National Geographic and Discovery depersonalize nature to such a point that people become so intimate with nature that they think of big cats and bears as cuddly and/or simply objects of another film makers dream) that we cannot even fathom the reasons for their existence or their role in the food chain. We have reduced them to objects and created enigmatic, futile, deranged dreams of them roaming in our backyards, seeing them as interesting to stare at and nothing more. They are viewable at the zoo so why not just bring them all into zoos, out of their habitats, trapped in cages and fed already dead carcasses?
Putting aside polar bears and global warming for a moment, in our very backyards (i.e. the woods and forests, deserts and plains of America) there are concerns lurking beyond the treelines. There lie dead, rotting, leaking machines, dumped by some individual who had no other option or knowledge of how to dispose of their vehicle. You’ve seen them on hikes or walks or drives through the country, rusty bulks laying off the beaten path, cold, lonely, yet somehow nostalgic, tall grass growing around it and through the hole which was once the windshield. There are graveyards of tires and there are tire fires every year and then there are the junkyards. Hulks of dead automobiles lie on top of, beside, under and around other dying brothers and sisters in mass graves that could be someone’s home or simply empty land. But instead, these yards harbour the dead and even pawn of their pieces for profit.
These problems are environmental, humanistic, economical and ethical. What must happen before we realize as a society that automobiles are the single worse and destructive inventions ever created? Dare I say the worst invention in modern history? The spread of the green movement is a good start, but is the start too late? Manufacturers continue to search for alternative fuels and laws continue to be passed and created to curb traffic accidents. But the truth is, none of that is the cure. The cure lies in the resounding voice of the people and if that voice does not reject what is unethical (which I predict will not happen) I will simply pose the question, have we not any dignity or respect for our world?
Sunday, March 15, 2009
God's Palette (Originally Written 11/2/08)
The weather was crisp and comfortable as I drove on Highway 71 toward Liberty Memorial. The trees smiled in green and yellow and red and the cars traveled as if admiring each leaf and blossom, seemingly ignoring the momentous event about to take place. Each red light made me feel as if I would miss something although I had at least two hours to go before anything important would happen. Finally, I arrived at 31st Street and zoomed off the highway and turned on my left-turn signal. The light turned green and I gave my car more gas, shifted gears and began inching closer and closer to the destination.
I began to suspect that something had been cancelled since the traffic was mediocre at best. But that was a fleeting thought and my mind focused once more on road and the surroundings. I was now in an area that no one wanted to be during the night. Rundown once beautiful and now intriguing old buildings crumble into the streets as ragged souls linger on each corner eyeing each car that passes as if searching for the weakest in the herd.
Liberty Memorial
2 Miles
I was getting near the ubiquitous destination and I could smell the proximity and could feel the excitement slightly tingle across my skin. It arrived with such spontaneity I struggled to make a quick decision, Do I turn right or left on Main or go straight onto 31st Street toward the blocked off street that has a sign saying "EVENT PARKING HERE" pointing at both a parking garage on the right and a parking lot on the left? Consequently, I opted to go straight and park in the parking lot for fear of some sort of toll of the parking garage. The lot was primarily full, except for a couple spots behind the Wendy’s. I pulled in and sat for a couple minutes attempting to come to some moral conclusion regarding my choice to park in a busy establishment’s parking lot but came to the realistic conclusion that if I didn’t park here someone else would and it wouldn’t matter much at all.
I got out of my car, made appropriately sure that it was indeed locked and secured then briskly walked the two blocks to Liberty Memorial. There were many types of people marching to this shared destination, hippie-types, punks, elderly, normal-looking, just about every group you could think of except Goths. I don’t remember seeing any Goths, maybe they don’t attend such gatherings. We all walked to our common goal with reverence for each other, yet in the air there was the odd feeling of obscurity as each person knew they wanted to get there before the person in front of or behind them.
Upon viewing the spectacle of the venue and the mass of people I stopped, admiring the fortitude of these fellow men and women. There were lines of humanity everywhere, chaos. There was no real direction of which way to go, except the woman in official garb directing everyone to the line going downhill, "They’re tellin’ me that’s the shortest way to get in." So everyone got in line. The fastest and shortest line is always the best, right? I followed suit, like a duped child following his friends advice to go ahead and eat the worm.
A lady soon stopped me by calling out, "Sir!! Sir!!" I turned around, unsure whether it was me or another sir that was being summoned. "Is this the way we are supposed to go?" she asked politely.
"Well...yeah...at least that’s what that lady said up there. Who knows really though." I replied almost quizzically. And so, it seemed I had found a friend to relieve me of my self-pity. Damn.
We spoke of politics, life, jobs, writing (she was a journalism major, strange huh?) and religion. The conversations grew sometimes used up and others seemed as though they would never end. It went on this way as we crept slowly toward the bottom of the hill for about an hour.
Suddenly, we neared the bottom and the mounted police directed us back up the hill. For a moment I thought maybe there would be a riot, since there were many son of a bitches and motherfuckers and what the fucks. But ultimately each persons vision centered on the real goal at hand, nearly sprinting up the hill toward the field of green that lie at the foot of the memorial.
And so everyone went, some akimbo up the grassy hill, others conforming to the stairs and some a combination of both, all in a hurry to get a decent spot. Upon arriving at the crest of the hill thine eyes were greeted with a glorious sight of people of different races and cultures. But there was only the quick moment of observation until I was nearly shoved down the stairs as the stampede of people seemed endless and unmerciful. Down the stairs now we went, descending as if the waters had parted and it now our chance to journey between the waves.
Upon arriving on the final plane of the trek, we were greeted with wrestling through the crowd to find a decent standing place. It presented us with a task not as daunting as originally thought and we found a place near one of the stacks of speakers. Finally we were settled in place and I began to look around since all around me I could hear, "There’re snipers everywhere!" and "Obama’s in the second floor from the top over there!"
I failed to see Obama but did spy snipers and police in urban uniform. There were three above the grand American flag which I found strangely poetic, but mostly disturbing. There were children and youth and middle-aged and quarter-agers. A little of everything and everyone. There were even some Muslims for Obama there.
We had been on the premises for nearly two hours and then at around five o’ clock they announced we would be saying the Pledge of Allegiance and listening to the Star-Spangled Banner. The Pledge was spoken and then a girl who tried too hard sang the Banner. And everyone cheered jubilantly of course.
Afterward, Emmanuel Cleever spoke and told a story about his father and how it "‘Taint Enough". I did not find the story to be very engaging personally, rather strained and forced. Susan Montee approached the mike and said nothing I recognized as significant until she said, "Since they took away straight ticket voting we need to go down the list and mark each Democratic candidate, that way we can be sure we get the change we want." Ok, whatever but what about making the right choices?
Then Kathleen Sebelius spoke amidst cheers after her introduction. Her words seemed muffled in my mind as I was still processing Montee’s statement. After she spoke and the cheers for Obama died down, the crowd was treated to more music, well the five songs they had on repeat anyway. Boredom began to sit in as everyone silently stood wondering what no one was coming right out with saying, "When in the world is Obama gonna speak and when is this music going to stop. The same five songs. Come on, throw some variety in there!"
But we all stood live perfect statues, except for the few attempting to get the impossible ‘great view’. The crowd was far too thick at this point. Men sat with their children on the grass behind us, playing cards. Women gabbed and talked about their church, their families and their hair to the left. A short, young man and his wife stood to my right, he was reading Catcher in the Rye and she was reading a novel whose title was nondiscernable to me. Most of the crowd was fidgeting their necks here, there and everywhere, their eyes searching for the man whose popularity swayed republicans to democrats and right to left.
Suddenly as if a sign from God Himself, a preacher rose up on the stand to give the eulogy of the Obama’s speech on that day. The prayer was eloquent and grotesque as I began to wonder when it would end and why all the vibrancy and poetic charm when God knows man’s hearts more than man knows his own. The prayer seemed to last an eternity, people cheered during all the correct cues (which is wrong too, I think, but who am I to judge?). The closing arrived and the blessing commanded a residence on Obama’s lips, for him to speak truth and wisdom and (without saying it, not to screw up) freedom to all the people waiting and watching. Cheers.
Obama approached the stand with the grace and command of a leader, but my heart did not jump as I watched this man whom I had admired for nearly two years. A man who I had been rooting for from the beginning, and I had only recently been swayed to vote otherwise due to his vote cast in favor of the $85 Billion bail out. Perhaps that is why I was not overwhelmed with excitement. Nevertheless, his words rang with his mix of assurance, intelligence, humanness, decency, honor and humor.
He told stories, spoke of plans and it felt as if he were speaking to you amidst the crowd of seventy-five thousand. His voice arose from the little stand with clarity and generosity as people filled the air with their voices and faith. It was almost as if they worshiped him as they cheered and uniformly screamed his name. I found myself clapping, but as is my nature, I did not let out any guttural shout or yelp of ‘OBAMA!’. I listened and continued to scan the crowd and admire the diversity, yet also in wonder at some of the blatant rudeness that emitted from eyes and sometimes mouths of people who shared a common motive on this evening.
Women stared commandingly vicious at those attempting to wedge their way somehow closer to the front while men uttered blatant hyphenated profanities directed at those same that were murdered by the eyes of en-angered women. The absurdity of human behavior in this situation drew towards the forefront of this experience. No wonder I preferred solitude.
The speech drew to a close with Obama’s booming voice transforming the crowd (as he had done for the last forty-five minutes) into a raving band of banshees and Vikings who cheered at the spoils of war and the ecstasy of words. Obama waved, raising his angelic rolled-up shirt-sleeve upward. Atop it sat his ebony hand and fingertips, designed by a God who painted each one of us, all in the different colors of His palette.
I began to suspect that something had been cancelled since the traffic was mediocre at best. But that was a fleeting thought and my mind focused once more on road and the surroundings. I was now in an area that no one wanted to be during the night. Rundown once beautiful and now intriguing old buildings crumble into the streets as ragged souls linger on each corner eyeing each car that passes as if searching for the weakest in the herd.
Liberty Memorial
2 Miles
I was getting near the ubiquitous destination and I could smell the proximity and could feel the excitement slightly tingle across my skin. It arrived with such spontaneity I struggled to make a quick decision, Do I turn right or left on Main or go straight onto 31st Street toward the blocked off street that has a sign saying "EVENT PARKING HERE" pointing at both a parking garage on the right and a parking lot on the left? Consequently, I opted to go straight and park in the parking lot for fear of some sort of toll of the parking garage. The lot was primarily full, except for a couple spots behind the Wendy’s. I pulled in and sat for a couple minutes attempting to come to some moral conclusion regarding my choice to park in a busy establishment’s parking lot but came to the realistic conclusion that if I didn’t park here someone else would and it wouldn’t matter much at all.
I got out of my car, made appropriately sure that it was indeed locked and secured then briskly walked the two blocks to Liberty Memorial. There were many types of people marching to this shared destination, hippie-types, punks, elderly, normal-looking, just about every group you could think of except Goths. I don’t remember seeing any Goths, maybe they don’t attend such gatherings. We all walked to our common goal with reverence for each other, yet in the air there was the odd feeling of obscurity as each person knew they wanted to get there before the person in front of or behind them.
Upon viewing the spectacle of the venue and the mass of people I stopped, admiring the fortitude of these fellow men and women. There were lines of humanity everywhere, chaos. There was no real direction of which way to go, except the woman in official garb directing everyone to the line going downhill, "They’re tellin’ me that’s the shortest way to get in." So everyone got in line. The fastest and shortest line is always the best, right? I followed suit, like a duped child following his friends advice to go ahead and eat the worm.
A lady soon stopped me by calling out, "Sir!! Sir!!" I turned around, unsure whether it was me or another sir that was being summoned. "Is this the way we are supposed to go?" she asked politely.
"Well...yeah...at least that’s what that lady said up there. Who knows really though." I replied almost quizzically. And so, it seemed I had found a friend to relieve me of my self-pity. Damn.
We spoke of politics, life, jobs, writing (she was a journalism major, strange huh?) and religion. The conversations grew sometimes used up and others seemed as though they would never end. It went on this way as we crept slowly toward the bottom of the hill for about an hour.
Suddenly, we neared the bottom and the mounted police directed us back up the hill. For a moment I thought maybe there would be a riot, since there were many son of a bitches and motherfuckers and what the fucks. But ultimately each persons vision centered on the real goal at hand, nearly sprinting up the hill toward the field of green that lie at the foot of the memorial.
And so everyone went, some akimbo up the grassy hill, others conforming to the stairs and some a combination of both, all in a hurry to get a decent spot. Upon arriving at the crest of the hill thine eyes were greeted with a glorious sight of people of different races and cultures. But there was only the quick moment of observation until I was nearly shoved down the stairs as the stampede of people seemed endless and unmerciful. Down the stairs now we went, descending as if the waters had parted and it now our chance to journey between the waves.
Upon arriving on the final plane of the trek, we were greeted with wrestling through the crowd to find a decent standing place. It presented us with a task not as daunting as originally thought and we found a place near one of the stacks of speakers. Finally we were settled in place and I began to look around since all around me I could hear, "There’re snipers everywhere!" and "Obama’s in the second floor from the top over there!"
I failed to see Obama but did spy snipers and police in urban uniform. There were three above the grand American flag which I found strangely poetic, but mostly disturbing. There were children and youth and middle-aged and quarter-agers. A little of everything and everyone. There were even some Muslims for Obama there.
We had been on the premises for nearly two hours and then at around five o’ clock they announced we would be saying the Pledge of Allegiance and listening to the Star-Spangled Banner. The Pledge was spoken and then a girl who tried too hard sang the Banner. And everyone cheered jubilantly of course.
Afterward, Emmanuel Cleever spoke and told a story about his father and how it "‘Taint Enough". I did not find the story to be very engaging personally, rather strained and forced. Susan Montee approached the mike and said nothing I recognized as significant until she said, "Since they took away straight ticket voting we need to go down the list and mark each Democratic candidate, that way we can be sure we get the change we want." Ok, whatever but what about making the right choices?
Then Kathleen Sebelius spoke amidst cheers after her introduction. Her words seemed muffled in my mind as I was still processing Montee’s statement. After she spoke and the cheers for Obama died down, the crowd was treated to more music, well the five songs they had on repeat anyway. Boredom began to sit in as everyone silently stood wondering what no one was coming right out with saying, "When in the world is Obama gonna speak and when is this music going to stop. The same five songs. Come on, throw some variety in there!"
But we all stood live perfect statues, except for the few attempting to get the impossible ‘great view’. The crowd was far too thick at this point. Men sat with their children on the grass behind us, playing cards. Women gabbed and talked about their church, their families and their hair to the left. A short, young man and his wife stood to my right, he was reading Catcher in the Rye and she was reading a novel whose title was nondiscernable to me. Most of the crowd was fidgeting their necks here, there and everywhere, their eyes searching for the man whose popularity swayed republicans to democrats and right to left.
Suddenly as if a sign from God Himself, a preacher rose up on the stand to give the eulogy of the Obama’s speech on that day. The prayer was eloquent and grotesque as I began to wonder when it would end and why all the vibrancy and poetic charm when God knows man’s hearts more than man knows his own. The prayer seemed to last an eternity, people cheered during all the correct cues (which is wrong too, I think, but who am I to judge?). The closing arrived and the blessing commanded a residence on Obama’s lips, for him to speak truth and wisdom and (without saying it, not to screw up) freedom to all the people waiting and watching. Cheers.
Obama approached the stand with the grace and command of a leader, but my heart did not jump as I watched this man whom I had admired for nearly two years. A man who I had been rooting for from the beginning, and I had only recently been swayed to vote otherwise due to his vote cast in favor of the $85 Billion bail out. Perhaps that is why I was not overwhelmed with excitement. Nevertheless, his words rang with his mix of assurance, intelligence, humanness, decency, honor and humor.
He told stories, spoke of plans and it felt as if he were speaking to you amidst the crowd of seventy-five thousand. His voice arose from the little stand with clarity and generosity as people filled the air with their voices and faith. It was almost as if they worshiped him as they cheered and uniformly screamed his name. I found myself clapping, but as is my nature, I did not let out any guttural shout or yelp of ‘OBAMA!’. I listened and continued to scan the crowd and admire the diversity, yet also in wonder at some of the blatant rudeness that emitted from eyes and sometimes mouths of people who shared a common motive on this evening.
Women stared commandingly vicious at those attempting to wedge their way somehow closer to the front while men uttered blatant hyphenated profanities directed at those same that were murdered by the eyes of en-angered women. The absurdity of human behavior in this situation drew towards the forefront of this experience. No wonder I preferred solitude.
The speech drew to a close with Obama’s booming voice transforming the crowd (as he had done for the last forty-five minutes) into a raving band of banshees and Vikings who cheered at the spoils of war and the ecstasy of words. Obama waved, raising his angelic rolled-up shirt-sleeve upward. Atop it sat his ebony hand and fingertips, designed by a God who painted each one of us, all in the different colors of His palette.
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