Thursday, July 28, 2016

The Long and Tiring Road



"But a fundamental truth of history is that change comes slowly and is often recognizable only in retrospect."


Some "fundamental truths" are also glib ripostes from rhetorical arsenals of those satisfied with whatever state of injustice currently exists.

The Times is part of the establishment and so, in many ways, part of the problem. The same can be said of Obama and Hillary too.

But think.

Last night Obama, passing a torch, alluded to his many failures and mistakes. History, though, is not a marathon with a designated finish line. Nor is it some lonely sprint through rocky terrains of endless night, the hero guided by his own torch of truth - a Right Libertarian archetype.

It's a breathless race through chaotic urban nightscapes.  Any flickering torchlight can be suddenly extinguished by ferocious backdrafts of hulking trucks hurtling by in all directions.  Blinding headlights and sweeping kliegs eclipse the faltering glim you grip.  Bystanders cheer, but also jeer. They give bad directions, sometimes intentionally.  Some offer water, some whiskey, some gall, and some  . . . hemlock, urine, or bleach.

Call me naive, but Obama's speech was no glib scam.  Nor is this Times editorial.  (At least not completely.)

Leaders are not just to be trusted and admired. The final "jihad" may be to remove leaders from the core of our common projects.    . . . A long road - and not a paved highway (warning: silly link).

We don't have to trust or admire Hillary.  That may not even be the best way to support her.  But her faults and failures reflect our own. And so should her courage and resilience.


Torches aren't always passed. They can be snuffed - or feebly dropped by exhausted runners - traumatized enough to succumb to the grim allure of night's darkest pockets.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Firm Footed Finally

When you're old and creaky
and never learned to swim
it could be good to get to run
in water deep
treading where
no bottom's touched
no guarantee of calm
no immunity from sudden cough
or some wrong breath.

That black water holds one up
is no more mystery than light
no more doubtful miracle
than waves from
chancy stars can
carry clearly imaged portraits
and crisp record beats
of cheeky rolling rock
royalty would rattle to.

If it's good air's you gasp
there's no need to touch
as one learns to accept
but never
understand
no beginnings and no ends
and creation's the sole force
why nothing's ever lost.
Nothing's ever really

turtles all the way down
they're all and everything
and swim through around
every slit
double quick
and nowhere fast all the way
up and every one filled
with the same shifting stacks

twisting in and twisting out
spinning spins entangled
reflecting holographic wholes
creating new non boundaries
between new wavers
and what waves

and you might wave
to everyone
on your third wave down
beatituding
and sputtering.
Deep again.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Dwight’s Red Eye Day



Dwight did not feel well.  His two eyes were both red.


He looked in the red can. “I can make coffee,” he said.


He had three cups.  He still did not feel well.  His two eyes were still red.


“I can go outside,” said Dwight.  “I can go find someone to help.”


He went down the road.  He saw Joe.  Joe was working.


“Can I help?” said Dwight.


“Come help me,” said Joe.


Dwight helped Joe.  Joe felt better.  So did Dwight.  His two eyes were not red now.



Dwight and Joe had beer.


Dwight felt even better, but now his two eyes were red again.