The Crimson Tide

I saw a dream of fire and iron branding faces soul of I, and specters rising up like the Northern Lights. While word is spread of mental pollution, masked hoods burning crosses at dawn, and I the dreamer fading, nearly gone.

A good man gathers gear and a rifle heading for a moment of truth, and federal guard troops clashed with the local thugs, while broken ethnic romeo soldiers busting out their songs of hope, go fading out like so many lightning bugs.

The crimson tide…
drowning the quick…
bury the doomed,
but oh, how life goes on,
and flow with the tide…
pirates and saints… all to comply,
and clouds are weeping welcome from the sky.

I heard a leader’s lackey nay a plan of creeping bloodless coup, while terror craftsmen blend into the walls. And those who act will feed the legations, with a pure and steady hand, and hearts of stone will be the ones to stand. I dreamt a good man man drove his assault team only justice to defend, a waiting posse for the bordello. And gathered mobs proclaim solidarity with the pure and spotless blood, and Hell jerked, belching fire from down below.

The crimson tide…
drowning the quick…
bury the doomed,
but oh, how life goes on,
and flow with the tide…
pirates and saints… all to comply,
and stars are weeping welcome from the sky.

A mob descends on armchair conspirators mess of mental sickness to clean and I the dreamer rose up to lead the band, of outcasts raising voices bound to set intention to stone, while merchants steal the brass of their own. And those who dread the end of excitement… no more bullets no more bombs… go on to see how dark the night can get. I saw a good man level his rifle forcing death to reconcile and face the tide of blood feud and regret.

The crimson tide…
drowning the quick…
bury the doomed,
but oh, how life goes on,
and flow with the tide…
pirates and saints… all to comply,
and God is weeping welcome from the sky.

God is weeping welcome in reply

Geisterfahrer

mary sanchez… fell in love
time with her romeo was never enough
headin’ southbound santa fe…
makin’ plans for their big day
in a red ford sedan on a sunny saturday
off into the early morn…
waved goodby with a kiss
for a beauty salon on the south side
of her bliss

and you who carry the world…
without an alibi
turn away from the river of tears…
there’s so much pressure on you
too much to do… ain’t no time…

jimmy james fitch… came unhinged…
playa’ livin’ large drove a jet black ‘cedes benz
fell on hard times… conditions so unkind
lost direction… lost perception…
and finally lost his mind…
turned his benz into santa fe…
headin’ north on a southbound lane
with the pedal to the metal…
determination on his face

and you who carry the world…
without an alibi
turn away from the river of tears…
there’s so much pressure on you
too much to do… ain’t no time…

mary’s romeo got the call
found jimmy james fitch…
found mary… saw it all
saw the red ford sedan…
the black mercedes benz
tangled up in a blacktop bed…
of shattered diamonds

and you who carry the world
without an alibi
dive deep into the river of tears…
and meander to the ocean…
there’s nothin’ but time now…

time
time
time

Bad Day in the Rocky Mountains

 

The plan was simple. Lisa, our mutual friend Tim, his brother Tom, and I would go for a nice quiet road trip through the Rockies — something we often did for grins and giggles. This time we planned to visit Tom’s college buddy in Grand Junction. We would stay Friday and Saturday, then drive home Sunday in time to watch the Broncos game on TV.

By the time we made it halfway through the six-hour trek, pangs of hunger could no longer be ignored. We pulled into the next town, Glenwood Springs, for a bite. Not able to find a fast-food restaurant, we chose the first eatery that looked casual. It turned out to be a barbecue shack, and the ribs hit the spot. As we savored the last few bites, Tom, with a toothpick in the corner of his mouth, assumed a sober tone and began telling stories about his college buddy. He recounted several tales of drugs, guns, and dubious visitors speaking mangled Spanglish. This inspired a panorama of expressions from Lisa’s face, and she repeatedly commented how little of that sort of thing happened in her hometown, Pilger, Nebraska.

“Don’t worry Lisa, Tom’s pulling your leg,” Tim said, not altogether convincingly. “He loves to embellish. Actually, his buddy did some time for possession of marijuana in the seventies, but I’m sure he’s done with that nonsense by now.”

Lisa looked relieved, but I was beginning to wonder just how well Tim knew his brother.

The final leg of the drive was relaxing. As we reached the mesas and orchards of the area, the sun looked to be in perfect position for a spectacular setting. I was cursing myself for not bringing the “good” camera when Tom, from the co-pilot seat, called for a left turn.

“Only ten miles,” he said as the sound of rubber on gravel began to mix with that of the radio.

“I thought he lived in town,” Lisa said with a distant note of worry.

Tom turned to face her in the back seat, “Fear not,” he said with a crooked smile. “Jasper is wealthy, and he’s actually down to earth. Besides, you like horses so much, I figured you’d enjoy the ranch.”

Lisa looked unconvinced, so Tom continued. “Lighten up my dear. Beautiful this time of year. The parties are fun.”

I think Tom fancied himself a Zen poet. Lisa, however, did not appear amused.

Upon arrival, to my surprise, we found Tom was right. Jasper’s house was beautiful; a sprawling ranch with an outdoor pool and hot tub in the backyard. The green apple and peach orchards stretched beyond the stables as far we could see. Also, a friendly bevy of merry-makers was by the pool, and topping it off, Jasper proved a congenial host.

“Welcome, welcome!” he sounded earnest. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” Jasper said after Tom’s introductions.

Just then the sun was beginning a grand exit and most everybody, for a brief moment, seemed spellbound. The moment was stunning, and after sighs and wows faded, the porch lights came on, and the party began with a vengeance.

This is where I should have pulled back and found a way to get us out. These people seemed to be of a different universe from what Tom had described, and it was apparent that they were deep into a collective cocaine binge. I could tell because their conversations were way too energized and the guys were accompanying each other to the bathroom (a practice that is reserved for girls where I come from). Something was nagging in the back of my head… it just didn’t feel right. After a while, I was able to loosen up and, a few beers later, found myself carried by the kinetic mirth of the moment and that’s when the trouble began.

Someone standing next to me saw them first. Three motorcycles idled in past the parked cars and into the backyard. When the metallic-blue gleam of the guns came into view, the entire crowd broke into panicked chaos. The rapid firing seemed to go on forever, and when the shooting stopped, the motorcyclists rode away.

Jasper’s backyard could have been a turkey shoot, but the gunmen caused no physical injuries, other than scrapes and bruises diving for cover. Mentally, however, I was changed for life. In the short time for the assailants to empty clips, I saw all; my failures, my family, and all the beautiful things that routinely get taken for granted. I imagined myself paralyzed and wheelchair bound. That was the scariest thought. Not that I might die, but without any health insurance, being shot and hospitalized, I would suddenly become a crushing burden to my family.

After the dust settled and everyone calmed down, I began to browbeat Tom for leading us into such a mess. He apologized abjectly; he didn’t think there’d be any hassles. He did admit to knowing of Jasper’s continued involvement in the illegal drug business but never dreamt of exposing us to anything dangerous. Jasper, he thought, was a prudent man in choosing friends and business associates.

To me, that seemed like the central lesson of the day. Yes, these are maddening times; choose your friends wisely.

We drove home that night; fled like spooked horses. We were glad to be no worse for the wear, but no one could sleep, and none of us would ever be the same. “I can see it now,” Tim said as we crested Lookout Mountain. It felt as though we’d never get far enough from that scene, and a heavy sigh of relief came over me as we did. At the time, I felt a great antipathy for the city, “Yuppie-town” as we not-so-affectionately called it, but on this night, as we gazed down at the twinkling lights of downtown Denver, no sight could have been more beautiful.

Umbrellas in the Sun

come dancin’ in…
to a field of umbrellas…
where all is sweet and everyone smiles

come for a while…
send your troubles to tarry…
when those far behind, move up the line

come with a song…
and a warm wistful heart…
and call on a friend, to be for a while

come as you are…
for a week or a lifetime…
now to the sunset, drink it all in

don’t cry…
umbrellas in the sun…
save us from the light

don’t cry…
there’s room for everyone…
hiding away away from the giver of life

don’t cry…
umbrellas in the sun…
save us from the light

don’t cry…
room for everyone…
hiding away from the giver of life
hiding away from the giver of life

hiding away from…
………………..the giver of life

Enough with the Whiney Baby Crap (Election, 2016)

So… the election is over, and whining has become a bi-partisan activity. Before the outcome was known, some of The Donald’s supporters were openly threatening “Another Revolutionary War” if he lost the election to Hillary Clinton.
Meh…
And Johnny Depp predicted DOOM if The Donald was elected…
Double meh…
Lemmie tells ya folks … it’s all breathless, bogus, fear mongering bunk, and I’ve seen my share.
  • Brought into this world April 19th, 1959, and by the 22nd, my first dose of “the fear” was served up by the prophet of the Branch Davidians, Florence Houteff. Ms. Houteff declared the apocalypse foretold in the Book of Revelation would proceed on this date.
  • In 1963, my three-year-old old self took another dose, when Jeane Dixon and various Indian astrologers predicted a planetary alignment would bring destruction to the world.
  • In ’67, King hell doom-monger, Jim Jones was already at it, recounting (out loud) he had visions of a nuclear holocaust set to take place.
  • The same year, UFO prophet, George Van Tassel predicted of the southeastern US being destroyed by a Soviet nuclear attack.
  • In 1969, failed musician, deeply troubled waif with mommy issues, Ch-ch-ch-Charlie Manson predicted an apocalyptic race war, and we know what that got him.

In my lifetime more than a dozen stoned-on-Jesus ravers have tried to infect the rest of us with the fear by predicting grisly details of the book of Revelation, quite literally, as described, they still believe it. Who on earth still listens?

Anyhoo, my life, so far, has included a persistent pearl string of nasty doom predictions, all have turned out to be bunk. Let’s not even get started on the y2k crap… 😉 Friends… come what may, all of this will pass. HillaryThe Donald … we’ll survive it. We survived Nixon, we survived Clinton, we survived Bush the Jr. (barely), and we just did eight years with the nation’s first non-white president. Let’s cut the doomsday dreck and figure out a way to work together, shall we? Well… shall we??

Blameless

what are these tears and blood… is it dust in your eye… or april’s flashing nighttime sky… why do your eyes disobey you… what’s the matter with your heart…  you can’t tame the untamable, don’t you know?

and would you criticize your man then offer solace?  you know my soul from the sands of time and all its promise… and would you write this moment down for the sake of children… and answer the call of the hurricane… down to you… down to you………..  blameless

do you hear the distant call… soaking toil in splendor… belonging to the night of endless dream? and do you carry weight of worlds summoning strength of billions… sending monsters to their doom?

and would you criticize your man then offer solace?  you know my soul from the sands of time and all its promise… and would you write this moment down for the sake of children… and answer the call of the hurricane…  down to you… down to you………..  blameless

how can you bring me down… my secret now revealed… from you there is no cure… my fate has been sealed… and how can i make it through the night when thoughts of you infect me… and turn my comfort into pain… and rob me of my sleep?

you know you can’t hide your lies… i saw you fall to your knees at the ruins… and do you do all these things then return to everyday… flags waving full in breezes… breezes… breezes….

and would you criticize… reproach… then offer solace?  you know my soul from the sands of time and all its promise… and would you write this moment down for the sake of children… and answer the call of the hurricane…

down to you…
……..down to you………..
blameless……………….. blameless

Confessions of a middle-aged “Bernista”

Yes, I confess… I am a middle-aged, white, male Bernista.
Alas, Bernie did not get the nomination, so I have to make a choice, and I’ve also chosen to declare it out loud and in public. I am, without reservation, endorsing Hillary Clinton for President of the United States. Why?
FIRST…
I want to make it clear that my endorsement is not merely due to Donald’s Trump wreck of a campaign. It does resemble a grisly accident, the kind desperate news directors salivate over; sensational, provocative, lurid, even bloody at times. The Donald has, so far, received far more free publicity than anyone should ever be allowed, but so much for that. The truth is, I’d support Clinton’s bid even if it were the lesser of two evils. For one, I believe The Donald is spectacularly unfit to serve as president of the United States, if for no other reason than his paper-thin ability to handle criticism.
Seriously… I want him nowhere near the red button.
LESSER OF TWO EVILS???
The Donald’s campaign may be a train wreck, and I may have preferred a Bernie Sanders ticket, but truth told, Ms. Clinton, is no slouch. In my opinion, she’s as or more qualified than any president serving in my lifetime (born in 1959).
YES… I WILL ELABORATE…..
But first I want to assure you, dear reader, I’m trying really hard to stay on the high road here. I could use some help, so please wish me luck. To start, I’d like to call everyone’s attention to the broken and bitter elephant in the room (pun intended). To wit, many Americans deeply distrust and vehemently dislike Ms. Clinton…. why? I suspect this animosity is a reflection of the ugly partisanship growing steadily since the “Fairness Doctrine’s” demise. The removal of the doctrine’s rules on public service broadcasting unloosed a tsunami of unfair, unbalanced right-wing bile, embraced fully by folks all ‘et up with fear and loathing for the declining supremacy of white middle-class males. The divide was further exacerbated by an unfair/unbalanced media fixation on a trumped-up “War Against Christian Culture.” This combined with relentless dishonest attacks against Ms. Clinton beginning in earnest with her first attempt to facilitate health care reform in 1993. Top all of that off with Ms. Clinton’s real flaws, missteps, and weaknesses, and you have an ideal witches brew fit for a perfect witch hunt.
BUT IS SHE A PERFECT PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE? NO FREAKIN’ WAY…
Clinton cannot blame a “Vast Right Wing Conspiracy” for all of her troubles. Ms. Clinton has earned a measure of suspicion and/or ambivalence. Cases in point, 1.) the closed meetings of first health care task force. 2.) The “Whitewater” debacle. 3.) The personal emails destroyed after leaving the State Department. 4.) Her reluctance to disclose a recent bout with pneumonia. 5.) The exorbitant cash earned on the speech circuit. And 6.) Her severe lack of personal charisma.
SO… WHAT DOES SHE HAVE?
TRUE GRIT… like Mattie Ross! I agree with the Washington Post’s assessment of Clinton’s career. I see it as a series of hard knock learning experiences preparing her for the environment. Example, when the walls came down on her health care reform task force, she did not give up. Instead, she reentered the fray helping to hammer together a more modest but essential reform expanding health-care access to economically disadvantaged children.
GRIT EXHIBIT B…
Ms. Clinton’s election to the Senate in 2000 also comes to mind. Those who remember the 1990s might think her justified in holding a grudge or two, especially toward Republicans who supported the relentless, lurid, and futile investigations against her husband in the impeachment and Senate trials. But it wasn’t to be. According to the Washington Post, colleagues in both parties found her to be, businesslike, knowledgeable, intent on results, working across the partisan divides, with little regard for personal credit.
WARTS AND ALL…
And though Ms. Clinton’s use of a private email server as secretary was misguided, in my opinion, it does not rise to the level of high crimes. Hell, who doesn’t want to simplify their email situation?? I have EVERYTHING forwarded to my private account, mainly because I don’t want two or more over-cluttered inboxes. I can barely manage one. But alas, I’m not dealing with highly sensitive classified information, and Ms. Clinton’s slow, grudging explanations worsened the damage. I also recognize Ms. Clinton should not have allowed an aide to go on the Clinton Foundation payroll while still at Department of State. This was a failure to maintain a clear separation between the foundation and the government; an integrity lapse she will not likely repeat.
STILL TRYING TO STAY ON THE HIGH ROAD HERE…
However, with all of her flaws and mistakes, The Donald makes Clinton look squeaky clean. She has released years of tax returns. The Donald will not. She has voluntarily identified her campaign bundlers. And The Donald? The Clinton Foundation actually is a charitable foundation … The Donald … well… he did get a lovely portrait of himself.
…TRUTH…
Ms. Clinton, as opaque as she sometimes appears, is Saran Wrap transparent compared to The Donald.
So … it is what it is: This white, male Bernista is committed to supporting Hillary Clinton for President of the United States … there … I said it out loud. Now, what do I expect from a Clinton presidency?
  1. Relentless commitment (even The Donald recognizes this),
  2. Seriousness of purpose,
  3. Flinty resolve, even in the face of powerful resistance, and,
  4. Good old-fashioned “public service” ethic, focused on achievements in the public interest.

What else do I expect from Hillary Clinton?
As much as I expect from anyone else … the best she can do.

LOSING OUR MINDS AT THE END GAME…
Folks, this is a potentially historic moment, and I find it deeply troubling that any woman would support a move to repeal the 19th amendment in effect denying women the right to vote. WTF? There is no excuse for this straight-up crazy talk. Even IF highly motivated to head off the prospect of Clinton’s supreme court picks.

C’mon folks… we’re not turning clocks back…. hello!?!?
I see the recent #RepealThe19th as proof some of us have finally lost our minds. Please, close your eyes and try to imagine someone pushing a movement to repeal the 13th amendment… seriously… ?!?!?

Let’s keep moving forward…
Let’s elect Hillary Clinton…
Let’s make history!!

Cheers… Loopcircus