Category Archives: shards

February 3, 2017 · 5:00 pm

running on instinct

Running on Instinct

I know less now than I knew then. Actually, I know more now but then there was less to know. It’s a ratio thing.

Then it was possible to know enough to dodge the draft. Or the tax man. Or a random bill collector. Then you could pull up stakes and vanish, regardless of how much you knew. You could survive on instinct.

It’s a wonderful thing, instinct, and it’s a sad day when it starts to diminish. A sure sign that your instinct is diminishing is that you spend a lot of time trying to figure things out.

Maybe if you pile all your electronic/digital equipment in a big heap along with your credit cards, driver’s license and birth certificate and then go at it with a hatchet before pouring gasoline over the mangled mess and torching it, maybe then you’ll have a snowball’s chance in hell of breaking free of how things are now. But probably not.

They’ll still track you down.

Gone are the days when we could see things as they really are.

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February 2, 2017 · 4:51 pm

an inverted ann landers

An Inverted Ann Landers

I got me a Marble Composition book like we used to use in grade school. I got it at the Dollar Store. Quick, how much did I pay for it? What was your answer? Write it down on the inside of your wrist.

It cost me $1.16. Is that what’s on your wrist? No? Why not? You forgot to add in the tax?

Somewhere out there right this minute someone is cheating and writing one-sixteen on his wrist with a ballpoint. Bingo! he says, and holds up his hand, all alone in his parked car by the river.

What I am is an inverted Ann Landers. People don’t write things to me, I write things to them. I answer questions people can’t formulate.

I’ve got a cult following, chapters in every state but Alaska. There’s an icon they wear on a chain around their necks. What do you think it is? Yes, write it down on your wrist.

Did you write bathtub? Do you think I’m the ghost of Jim Morrison? It’s a whole new ball game since Jim drowned in the bathtub.

I know, I haven’t told you what my cult followers wear around their necks. My suggestion, if you really want to know, is to walk the crowded streets of a big city with your arm in the air, exposing the wrist with your guesses on it.

Watch for anyone who makes eye contact.

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February 1, 2017 · 5:06 pm

the new american

The New American

Five o’clock and all’s well. Five o’clock and all is not well. Five o’clock, six o’clock, a.m. or p.m., daylight-savings time or banker’s time, time to break out the weapons, mow down whatever looks suspicious, time to redefine suspicion along with anything else that’s … well, suspicious.

You can see where this is going. If not, step over here for the strip search. Remove your hands from in front of your crotch and assume a praying posture with your head bowed. This is how we identify traitors. We are the new we, you are the old we the people. Pump iron if you want, you’ll never get strong enough to lift this load.

The reason this proclamation has you scratching your head and searching for what you learned back in grade school when you saluted the flag is a top secret that only the man with his hand on the red button is privy to.

This should be enough to squelch your curiosity.

Brush up on obedience and march in lock step like the new American should.

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January 31, 2017 · 7:45 pm

capitalism on a death bed or: jesus was an american

Capitalism on a Death Bed or: Jesus Was an American

“All day I face the barren waste, without the taste of water…”
Sons of the Pioneers, circa 1947. 

Human life is cheap. Break the body down into its elements and it’s worth about a buck. The body itself is roughly 68% water, an irony not lost on the people dropping like flies in those parts of the world where there’s not enough water to go around. The brain is 90% water, an even bigger joke. Turn on the automatic sprinklers. Roll on Columbia.

The unquenchable thirst. For fame, for fortune, for power and more than your share, which used to be a moral issue but now it’s a practicality. There’s no longer enough to go around, of anything, you need more than your share just to keep breathing. It’s a process of elimination. May the best man win.

The profit motive. Supply and demand. The people in Burundi demand water, so supply it. Trade it. Three bottles of Crystal Springs for six nubile daughters and ten truckloads of coffee beans. Capitalism on a Death Bed.

Monsanto is a way to escalate the inevitable along with toxic waste, radioactive fallout and greenhouse emissions. There’s no way to save the planet and maintain our standard of living, so let them eat cake. Shop, shop, shop no matter how many skyscrapers and bridges they blow to smithereens, those water-starved heathens who speak broken English.

Jesus was an American. Rush Limbaugh said so on his talk show after doing six lines of cocaine. Who are you going to believe? Rush, as American as apple pie, or some health-food nut on an organic lettuce farm who says Jesus was a Jew? Jesus was an American and Bradley Manning is a girl and good God in heaven, what’s this world coming to?

I hope by now you get the picture. I hope you’re ready to act. Turn on all your gadgets and await further instructions.

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January 29, 2017 · 5:11 pm

already missing her

Already Missing Her

For years now, over my morning coffee, I’ve watched them coming down the alley across the street, walking slowly, holding hands. They’re old, but not that old –- maybe in their early 70s.

Today was different. He appeared first and she was ten paces behind, hugging the hedge for security on the ice and snow.

His head was down, his hands jammed in his coat pockets, already missing her.

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January 28, 2017 · 7:10 pm

the constellation of wholeness

The Constellation of Wholeness

I.

It’s self-perpetrating.

Invisible to the naked eye.

Made up of six trillion wild guesses.

Longing for perception.

Sensitive to rejection.

Home to chaos.

II.

Form the wagons into a circle, it will confuse the infidel – one minute a string of wagons, the next a mysterious circle that sings to itself.

Progress is a sleight-of-hand trick in the cold cave of hope.

Crank up the technology and steam out of the harbor. Everyone on deck saluting in your dress blues. Except the guys in the boiler room and deaf captain with the glass eye.

III.

Only the basics have significance.

There are no words for what we strive for.

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