Once The Luster Is Lost

Well sir, would it sound arrogant to say that the therapists like me? I've always thought that it was because I'm easy. Ask me a question, I'll give you an answer.

Now, I realize that I'm probably making myself sound a little bit crazy here. Therapists? Plural?

See the women in my life generally decide that I could use some help. Honestly, who don't?

The scenario usually runs along these lines: A well-meaning woman concludes that if I weren't crazy, I would be acceptable as a partner. Without much work, the professional determines that I am, indeed, crazy. Everybody's happy at this juncture. I already had my suspicions. The well-meaning woman feels validated and the therapist has finished the important work of shining light on darkness.

Of course it never stops here.

We should  probably see if we might figure out what the well-meaning woman is doing in the company of a crazy man. It's usually the beginning of the end about this time.

The pattern has the women concluding that the therapist "likes me more." I've always thought that the fact that I will tell anybody anything has just made for easy work for the therapist and, to an extent, I believe that's true.

It occurs to me now, though, that my intact sense of wonder has probably worked in my favor all along. Now, that does sound arrogant. Would it be better to describe myself as unsophisticated? Naive?

My point is that I have managed to hang onto all of the magic. I believe in it all.

Thank you Carolyn, Karen, Mike. I can't remember that guy's name in North Carolina but thank you, too. To the women- I probably should have just told you.

Acceptance Speech

Well, sir, I owe it all to Sunday school lessons, the 3 Stooges and psychedelic drugs. This old world is full of false starts, dead end patterns and empty promises. Inside, I've got memories of banana pudding, puppy breath and that feeling that comes from slow dancing. 

Don't waste your time searching for truth. Here it is.

While the saints gossip about the end, let's celebrate. It ain't ever gonna get better than this. Call someone that you need to tell that you love them. Laugh. Try to remember your first dirty joke.

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

Slow Baby Bouncer

Those vibrations outside the range of human hearing. I'll bet that's where the most beautiful music lies. Stuck with these limited senses, we don't just strut the planet. We plunder arrogantly, as though we own the joint.

We cobble together books to justify our actions and claim that God gave them to us.

Pardon my irreverence here- She might have made the seas and the mountains and the stars. She didn't write any book. 

Spend a little more time with the golden rule and a little less time on obscure verse and chapter describing revenge and dominance. Don't preach to me about love. Love.

Board Up The Windows

Sometimes I'm glad that I don't have a photographic memory. Everything from my past is organized, neatly, into little treasure chests that make up who I am.

Now, when I say "neatly" I don't mean categorized in any fashion that would make any sense to anyone else. Dogs and cats and guinea pigs are mixed right in there with Grandma and President Kennedy and Howdy Doody.

Somehow, over time, in my mind, everybody was nice to me. 

Miss Gamon, my first grade teacher, came to visit my hospital room when I had my tonsils out. She sat by my bedside and held my hand while I ate sherbet. She told me that I was the smartest person in the class and that everybody missed me. My mom believed it of course. I was just thrilled to have sherbet and attention.

Elvis was nice to me. No matter how long I dwell on it, I can't find anything that he had to gain from it.

This world is in turmoil today like nothing I have seen in this lifetime. I'm filing away all the good memories that I can find. It may be a good time to make some of your own.

I love you.

Saw 'em In Half

Well, I'll swanee, the lessons surely come slowly. To me, anyway. It suddenly occurs to me that all sounds are music. The musician is the one who weeds them out and strings them together for the rest of us. If it's done well, it's a hit! Pythagoras and Lady Gaga and Willie Nelson are fine examples.

All of the light and dark are art once the painter wrangles the right proportions of each.

Words? I'm gonna say that they're just made-up sounds that we've put together to communicate ideas. The poet's job is to wrestle them into truth for the masses.

Me? I'm a loveologist. I was never any good at it but I study hard.

Perceived Slights Of A Southern Gentleman, Caged Animals And Broken Hearts

Seems I've run out of things to want. Funny thing is, I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Oh, I mean there's world peace, true love, living forever and all that.

When it comes to stuff, though, somehow I've had pretty much every single thing that I've ever desired. Same with experiences. I've been where I've wanted to go. I've danced with the ones that I wanted to dance with.

Maybe I just never had enough ambition. Imagination. 

My memories tell me that ain't it.

It's Not What You've Got, It's What You've Had

After Elvis nothing was ever the same.

Everything in my life changed again with the Beatles.

This plague will likely be the last life-changing episode in my go-round.

Honestly, I was kinda' hoping for something a little more upbeat. It's beautiful outside. No rain in the forecast. I do, however, sense revolution.

The Value Of Good Intentions

The most decent of the kids from my seventh grade class grew up with Atticus Finch their moral lodestar. Rightly so. 

Me? Boo Radley. Of course it has taken me a very long time to realize it.

My two friends who pointed out to me my social awkwardness did me a favor. A big favor.

Seems to me that Harper Lee painted Atticus and Boo with the same brush. Most of us aspire to kindness and decency. 

Gregory Peck can't play all the roles.

Hang 'em If You've Got 'em

The apple. Pandora's box. Burning bushes. They have to sneak us truth, disguised in myth, fable, parable. I listened to the smartest man I know yesterday telling us that it's just all about the golden rule. That's it.

Funny- I know that because I'm not particularly bright. He knows it because of how bright he is.

We are seeing the best and the worst of humanity right now. Love hard.

Cigars and Jasmine and Opposable Thumbs

Well, the resurrection ferns are bright green, providing more hope than eighteen hours of cable news. All my life I've rebelled and, for the most part, nobody noticed.

Old souls and heroes and revolutionaries command my divided attention. This one's coming for them, too, this time. 

Too old? Too old, indeed. I had even less to offer as a young man.

Pray for peace. Search for truth. Settle for love.

Look It Up

The few folks that I pass on these morning walks are out for exercise. Fresh air. I'm out for memories. Most of them are bittersweet- full of love, reminders of loss. Sometimes I'm sure that love lasts forever. Other times, even my memories have a gossamer quality.

Every other step or two still reminds me of her. It's been two years now. I talk to her every day. I don't even try to tell myself that she hears me. I do it for me.

Just before I got home today, a gardenia bush intruded my space from over a block wall. The glorious fragrance stays with me now reminding me of tales of Lottie. Oh, my- she loved her gardenia bush.

Look up romantic, noun. Now, google fool, noun. A fine line, no?

Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war.

Good Guys and Bad Guys, Soldiers and Saints

From here it looks to me like there are no good guys or bad guys. There are saints and there are the rest of us. 

The saints don't seem to judge. They just love.

They don't distinguish between myth and miracle and they don't quibble over verse and chapter while  living things suffer. Don't look to recruit the saints to your political side or expect them to support your war.

Give us peace on earth. Stay home if you can.