Pining

Sitting here with my laptop

Writing this little piece

Waiting for that special soul

To bring my heart its peace.

Wondering when my time will come

(And would time pick up steam?)

For my soulmate to float down

From my sweet nighttime dream

Curious how a woman feels

From her north down to her south

Interested in everything she is

And what she’s all about.

Is this the foolish musing

Of a solipsistic poet

Or has my heart’s desire arrived

And I don’t even know it?

I can’t believe that all the angels

Are taken.

It’s a nightmare from which I need to

Awaken.

I hear my soul’s desperate cry

Its weeping I must heed.

May Cupid hear it loud and clear

And rush forth on his white steed.

My lover and soulmate waits.

Does she know how I pine?

For her affection and consort

To feed my soul divine?

RANT

There’s a film I’ve never seen that I have wanted to get my hands on for many, many years called Resurrection. It’s out of print and has never been released on DVD; Ellen Burstyn was nominated for Best Actress in 1980 for her work. Her character is visiting with her mother; at the end of the visit, Mom supposedly tells daughter: “If we loved each other like we say we love God, I suspect there wouldn’t be so much bother in the world.”

For a long time now, the bother has been bothering me. I see it every day in the course of my work as a process service clerk. As the papers pile up and I enter them into our “sophisticated” computer system, I can only imagine what goes on. Children being born out of wedlock to irresponsible and negligent parents. Divorcing couples who apparently can’t see past their rage toward each other, if they ever could in the first place. Corporations jousting against one another, apparently competing to see whose lawsuit is bigger and ironically required more trees to be sacrificed. And car accidents! Too damn many car accidents, and too many insurance companies baring their bloody fangs.

All this can be avoided, you know. No one seems anymore like they think before they act. No one considers the consequences of sipping the umpteenth Southern Comfort. Lookie here, that guy is gonna have it away with the little blonde tart, never mind that he has a wife and children that look up to him. And that seat belt sign flashing at the driver while he does sixty in a forty zone? Well, who cares? Who? Does no one care about the consequences of their actions? Can the siren song of wolf-like news reporters and bored cameramen be that loud and seductive? Has no one any shame anymore?

I dunno. I look around this world anymore, and I am aghast at what I see. It galls me that I live in a country where more people vote for a pop music idol than they do their president, and are encouraged to do it more often. I do not find Paris Hilton, Britney Spears or any of the other trollops and harlots attractive, and I am bewildered that millions of others admire them. Men do things every day that make me ashamed to be one; rapes, robberies, murders, and beatings. Up until January 20 of this year, I found it just upsetting that three hundred million people should hate one man so much and so deeply. I turn on the radio in the morning, and I hear the same two guys with the same first name talking about the same two things in the same zombiefied tone of voice. On my drive home, Dr. Michael Savage says I am a schmuck, a schmendrick, a putz, or a combination of all three. People get conned out of money in Ponzi schemes. Homeless people make the choice—the choice—to beg for money as I walk past. I could go on and on with this. But I can nothing that Paddy Chayefsky didn’t say far more persuasively in Network.

And have we listened to ourselves lately? Jesus! At my office, when I’m not hearing gossip, I only hear variations on about fifty key words and phrases. And I myself am falling into the trap; on the phone I hear myself saying the same thing so often I am turning into a walking, talking tape loop. It is so hard anymore, at least for me, to hear sentences that are structured properly, with nouns, adjectives, verbs, modifiers, etc., and to hear words consisting of fewer than three syllables. Far greater intelligences than I have referred to the “dumbing-down” of America. They fret, rightfully so, that Americans are becoming dumber, less cultured, and even more desensitized than they already are. These intelligences, I hope, will be happy to know that I don’t like to follow along in gangs.
Sorry to sound so negative, folks. Thanks for letting me rant. I do wish the world were full of roses and tulips, that families were stable and corporations didn’t run amok, drunk on power. I do wish we loved one another like we say we love God. No God I know would let this world stand at the precipice of its own ruin.

FAR AWAY

FAR away.
ALONE.

I’M OUT HERE.
YOU’RE OUT THERE.
I CAN’T BRING US TOGETHER.

In the shallow end of the pool.
Envious of you in the deep end.
Afraid to swim further out…
I can’t swim.

Desperate to dive
Deeper and deeper.
Wanting to mine and plumb
The depths of you.
Shyness forbids me.

Feeling my bones and blood
Tense inside of me.
Wanting to relax and set free
Just like you.

On my side of the glass.
Wishing I could be on yours.
Unable to break through.

Far away.
Alone.

Movies, Celebrity, Stuff Like That

--There are people in this world—they know who they are—who watch the Tony Awards on CBS every year, despite the fact they have never been to a Broadway show in their lives.

--I should have known Robert De Niro was a sellout the day I saw him playing Fearless Leader and, of course, asking the immortal question, “You talkin’ to me?” The day is fast approaching when I won’t want to listen.

--One day, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences will relax its rules on nominating actors for Oscars. The next day, cell phone video of Meryl Streep eating a ham sandwich on white bread in her kitchen will surface on Youtube. Meryl will immediately be nominated for another Oscar. (This was written some while ago, but this is particularly valid in view of the fact that meryl's got a new film coming out where she plays, ironically enough, Julia Child.)

--In America, nearly all the truly great actors and filmmakers are dead or getting there. Somehow I cannot imagine being sixty years old and hearing Lindsay Lohan mentioned among the greatest actors of her generation.

--In 2001: A Space Odyssey, how is the HAL 9000 repaired? Surely before taking off on his trip in the EVA pod, Dave Bowman had to reconnect HAL 9000; otherwise, he would not have been able to leave Discovery One. Maybe such vagaries are why they refer to it as science fiction.

--Do you know that there are people in this world—considerably famous people, at that—who alphabetize their canned goods?

--I will be just out of my mind with delight and glee the minute I find out that a new Woody Allen film has debuted to a $100-million box office opening. We are quickly running out of time to see it happen, I'm sorry to say.

--At some nebulous point in the recent past, Angelina Jolie and Mia Farrow must have had lunch together. I would love to have been within earshot if such a meeting ever took place.

--Boy, bagging on celebrities isn't as fun as it used to be. Bagging on the people who make fun of celebrities is a little more exciting.

MELANGE

--There is, it seems to me, a direct correlation between one’s ability to create and his physical heath. Much of the reason for the lag between posts can be traced back to a cold I’ve just gotten over. By the same token, I agree with Larry Gelbart: “Any writer, to a man, to a woman, will find any excuse not to write.”

--I’ve mentioned the outgoing Governor of Alaska, the unfairly maligned Sarah Palin, elsewhere. Anyone who governs a large state like that and still finds time to paint her toenails purple is okay in my book. Besides, Mrs. Palin’s done quite a good job; when has anything or anyone besides Sarah Palin made national news over the past few years? I thought so.

--Do you know why the Harry Potter books grew progressively bigger with the passage of time? Scholastic was making so much money with off Mr. Potter’s magic wand—and Mrs. Rowling’s golden fingertips—they were afraid to edit the books. It’s the same thing with Stephen King, John Grisham, or any other author that grew too big for his or her britches. No one censors a word that comes out of a golden mind, if you receive my meaning. The lesson for all budding authors (myself included) is this: Be humble enough to take criticism and be edited. Your audience will thank you, and so will you, when you’re driving a Beemer.

--Phillies fans, which did you appreciate more: Tug McGraw’s leap in 1980 or Brad Lidge’s kneeling in 2008?

“The mind of a thoroughly well-informed man is a dreadful thing. It is like a bric-a-brac shop, all monsters and dust, with everything priced above its proper value.”—Oscar Wilde
--These days, my favorite writer is Roger Ebert. Ever since the throat surgery, writing has become Roger’s main means of communication. Which means that his writing has taken on greater urgency and lucidity. Politically, Roger’s a liberal, but his opinions and ideas are reasoned and thoughtful. I find myself checking his main site and blog daily; now more than ever, Roger’s words deserve to be chiseled into stone.
“It’s true that it takes some time to listen to a silent face, because you can’t say in half a second what can only be said over time” –Isabelle Huppert (NOTE: It seems crazy, but I understand that.)
“Luck is preparation meeting opportunity”. –Diane Keaton
--The only thing that could top a Rays-Phillies series in 2008 is a Yankees-Phillies World Series here in 2009. That week of last October, running through my 30th birthday, could not have been more delicious if it had been topped with hot fudge, whipped cream and a Merechino cherry. So the only encore that would do it justice would be to see my two favorite teams do battle in the autumn chill.
--When someone tells me, to my face or otherwise, that they practice Tantra, Transcendental Meditation, or both, my heart floods with envy. It’s impossible, walking around a city or a shopping mall, to tell if people do those things, or what else they do. I would love to have the gift of reading other people’s minds. Not that I want to feel superior to my peers or anything.
-- “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?” -–Marianne Williamson, A Return to Love

Sunday Morning

Out on the patio on a Sunday Morning
The blessings are heaven sent.
No humidity because the
Saturday storms came and went.

A breeze at my back
Blowing gently on my hair.
Room temperature in the open air.
Busy birds flying everywhere.

Not a cloud in the nascent sky
The green leaves and grass glow.
Warmth at my bare left foot
Brings me into the flow.

Wonder what Emerson and Frost would say
On so glorious a Sunday.

They’d glory in it.
Just like I am.

Adagio for Stars and Stripes

For every amber wave of grain,
There’s a mile of cinnamon dental floss.

For all the purple mountains’ majesties
There’s a hundred more Starbucks and McDonalds.

As fruited as the plains are,
There’s all those chemicals and pollutants.

By dawn’s early light,
Could we have seen reality teevee coming?

With the rocket’s red glare,
How could we have predicted Cold and Hot Wars?

What have we become?
Would George Washington be happy from above?
Can Abraham Lincoln still recognize us?

Who are we really?
Are We the People that far removed
From our ideals and beliefs?

Does the pursuit of a rock star mean more
Than the pursuit of happiness?

Are you proud of the pollution?
The corruption?
The greed? The graft?

Banks failing, terror rising.
Is this what we have to look forward to?

America should make you happy,
Should you make you feel glad.
But why, when I look around,
Do I feel so darn sad?