In My Sister's House

I suppose there's a thing
to say about visiting
someone you used to live with,
which is what I get to do
these days, pets and all
("and all" soon to mean baby).

Some of what to say
might mean that
I still don't know
what to think,
because so many things
were happening,
and happened, during
the three years
we spent reconnecting
that it will take
a number of years still
before I have a real
understanding.

Family life is always
difficult, in some way,
but it can be still more
intimidating when yours
has as many complications,
none obvious, as I have
experienced in mine.

So when I visit
in my sister's house,
it's exactly what it seems,
and nothing like it.

***

The thing about
the brothers Liam and Noel
is that they’ve grown up
in the hazy period
after rock reached
past the crib, became
a part of the generation.
Everyone says they
do nothing but
their own cribbing,
but to watch them
and see as they are,
you know it’s just
what they are,
as much caught in the stream
as musicians of the first order.

It might also have been said
that Brando held
“a disdain for Hollywood’s
creative decline” and that
he might’ve
“chosen to set a good example.”
The surprise, dear writer,
even if he didn’t know it himself,
was that there was no decline,
that all the weight he had
assumed for the industry
in its early years
he not so symbolically
returned to himself,
like an Orson Welles
or Bill Shatner. He
never lost his edge, in fact
never stopped rebelling.

That was his real magic.

***

Only immigrants understand,
seem to truly understand, the need
for community. The rest of us
fend for ourselves.

It occurs to me
that true suffering
is in the impulse
to retain
what must no longer
be retained,
that we bring upon ourselves
all our sorrows
when we fail
to recognize
that all things
must fade
in the inexorable
march of time.

It’s not so much
a thing of progress,
for many great things
are never seen,
much less embraced,
and far too much evil
is institutionalized,
where we only thought
we placed the delinquents
(what a joke that is!),
but a simple matter
of age, whether
our own or
the collected effort
that keeps us all
from falling feral
to the ground.

We still pretend
humanity is better
than other animals.
That’s another good joke.
Me, I’ve never liked fish,
and it was recently,
which I say as no vegetarian,
that I vocalized for myself
the reason why:

It’s bad enough we eat
things that resemble us,
why stoop lower?

***

In my sister’s house,
things are simple
and difficult to comprehend,
a matter of family
and the individuals
who comprise it.
Of course I love her,
and cherish what
bonds no speculation
can shatter, but
family is not
the final word of
a sentence,
at least not this one.

We still can’t agree
on movies, but the last time
she (sort of) compromised,
I think that’s when she found out
she was pregnant.
I consider that
some kind of miracle.

Still Just a Rat in a Cage

It's a terrible thing
to be impotent, to know
when it comes down to it
you'll never get what
you want, no matter
how hard you try, because
in the end, you just
don't have it in you.
That's the life of failure,
knowing you'll go down
with a whimper, maybe even
with people laughing,
still thinking you're
a good show, just for
none of the reasons
you want them to.
You fight and you strive
for the right to be yourself
when everyone around you
is just making it go
for the benefit of
those around them, bereft
of any potential, hindering
you, obliterating you,
piece by bloody piece.
What does it matter if
you eventually win,
when you won't be able
to enjoy it? Is that
so selfish, to know
you made a difference
and not just a shadow
on the wall of the cave
you lived your whole
miserable life in?

I wish to god it weren't.

I Look at Myself and See Nothing Worth Liking

The whole of human history
can be viewed as a struggle
between good and evil
because that's what it
essentially is,
polar opposites strangely
interacting, becoming one.

People have a tendency
to either crave the spotlight
or shun away from it,
and that's the same dichotomy.

I think the biggest trouble
comes when someone succeeds
in intersecting these impulses,
the person who hates people
but who is otherwise a real
people person, capable
of charming anyone they please to,
sometimes whether they want to or not.

The Matrix films came
within a hair's breath of
becoming the new Star Wars,
up until the second and third
installments were released
(with the new Star Wars themselves,
it only took until the first),
and people suddenly realized
what was really going on
(like they themselves woke up).

The story of Neo
was a classic example
of that inner war.
It turned out his adventures
weren't just about
cool fighting or
a wicked premise,
but a true exploration
of man's self-loathing
desires to see his world
crumble around him
(even before Morpheus
came calling, Neo
was a hacker, after all)
while being its savior,
which exactly in
the biblical sense,
ended up costing him
a personal happy ending.

I think that's what made
Christianity the draw it became,
actually, the reverse of Neo,
becoming popular because
of its paradox, that good
could come from evil.
I'll bet the early converts
heard more about the cross
than the beatitudes
(like I said, the reverse Neo).

That's the spirit of the revolution.

Oh, the Humanities!

I have a dream, too.

I dream that one day,
all work will be created equal,
so that it will no longer
be dreaded, but become
what it was always meant
to be.

I dream that in our
modern age, the
economics of the future
can be realized,
so that they are
driven by reason,
by a sense of accomplishment,
not by a sum total,
by results,
not by demand.

I dream that demand
will become a thing
of the past, that supply,
as it already is,
will become plentiful
and reasonable,
because reason
is the last religion,
the last belief
in which there can be
no doubt, only worship,
not of ourselves
but what we are
capable of.

Because we are capable,
of a great many things.
We just happen to favor
hamstringing ourselves,
for no other reason
than "what's well enough alone,"
the worst philosophy I know,
or reason that thinks
it's novel when it's not,
managed thought that works
like a machine,
the evil terminating kind.

Reason should tell us
these things, and it does,
and we choose not to listen.
"Reason" also tells us
that when we are allowed
to do what we want
and not what we have to,
vital work would not
get done, "because
it's not desirable."
Human nature,
which is Reason,
tells us differently.

The dream lives on,
will become the wave of
the future, will
become the future,
because the present
is the future,
which is the present,
and an extension
of the past.

These things happen.

It's Always Golfball Season

When I moved here
just before winter,
people were frantically
golfing away the last
of the season.

Four months later,
where it's still
winter, somewhere,
they're back.

I don't know,
I guess it's because
this is the first time
I've had a course in
my backyard, but
I just never realized
how rabid these players
really are, always ready,
always game, stalking
those tiny balls
and smacking them away
into small holes.

It only sounds dirty.

C'mon! Old people do it!
It can't be wrong!

All joking aside,
I've never gotten
into golf myself,
but it's funny to see
all the people,
riding the greens,
looking for the perfect slice.

The most fun
I've had
on them
was finding out
about the fence.

I guess it keeps
the gophers
away.

I'm Off the Bus

I'm off the bus,
and I guess that's
what ultimately
separates me
from the last age
of poetry where
I would actually
fit in.

Don't get me wrong,
I'm sure a lot of
really fantastic
stuff's being
written right now,
but really, if
no one knows,
if it's being
done in the same
vacuum I inhabit,
what does it
count for, a
movement of
Dickensons?

Forgive me
if I don't
relish that
thought.

But forty years ago,
things were really
happening, and it
wasn't until I saw
Easy Rider
that I truly
understand
the fundamental
divide that culture
brought to
the landscape.

These people were
every bit one for
themselves. They
were distanced from
everything around them
not because they
were trying to be,
but because that's
what the culture
made them become.

They had found
a new way
to be themselves,
and that's what
they were doing,
and darned if
everyone didn't
get on the bus
with them.

That's the real
problem, of course.

Everyone got on
the bus.

When the revolution
is institutionalized,
it's no longer
a revlution.
This is not to say
that the revolution
was successful.

A revolution
is not necessarily
meant to change
the world,
but to broaden it.

Communism, for
popular example,
easy to understand.
People embraced that
and it fucked things up
real good.

Cars are another
good one, but
people don't know
that one because
they only know it
as a convenience,
not as the hindrance
it is. They may
kid themselves
and slap it into
their notions
of mankind's great effect
on the world around them,
but they don't
understand how
drastically it's
shaped and corrupted
everyday life,
condemned it
to slavery.

No, I don't propose
to burn all the petrol
and the metal monsters
who feed on it,
but to think rationally
again, to lose the
revolution,
to redefine it
for what it was
originally intended
to be.

I'm not on the bus
because I don't think
anyone knows what
that bus is anymore.
The bus is not a car,
is not a single constipation
on the road, but a means
of uniting interests
across a vast expanse,
the one we've utterly
claimed and staked
as our own,
pretending we've
taken everything
but overlooking
all the pretty horses
that still roam free.

So no, I'm not on the bus,
not until people start
to realize
how stupid they are
and smarten up.

Take your car
and meet the bus,
and reclaim
the revolution.

Harry Potter Comes in Spanish, Too!

I don't pretend
to know the details,
but today's the big
release date of the
last book in the series
for Spanish readers.
I can't imagine
that Spain didn't
get the release
last July, so
on the surface,
it's confusing.
Ordinary American
readers are still
toddling along,
picking up random
books in the series,
but for Spanish language
readers, they get
two whole copies
for their big day!
But, they have to wait!
Not even when
the store opens
can they have
one of them, but only
after noon strikes!
I'm so excited for them!

The babel fish tells me
that I should care more,
that I shouldn't mock
the occasion, but here
I go anyway, because
it just seems so absurd.

Part of the joke,
of course, is that
this is a British
phenomenon washed up
on our shores, and
even though we've
all but recobbled it
in our image (the first
book, at the very least,
when we rechristened it),
made a celebration
out of each release date
(except this one),
Harry's not ours,
and it probably gnaws at us.

We're the new kings of comedy!

But there they go anyway,
claiming the prize,
all the glory of the Muggles,
while we fashion the reward
as our own (we made the movies).

And then the new
release date comes,
and we're forced to
eat Muggle pie anyway.
The Dark Mark is
imprinted on all
our forearms,
a signal of
our opposition
to all that
Harry stands for.
United?

Hardly.

Batgirl

The problem that developed
between Batgirl and Nightwing,
even though they seem
destined for each other,
is that they simply
are not ready to commit.
Everything's there,
they're both waiting,
but it just isn't time.

But it'll be magic
when they finally do.

Three Minutes

In Real Life,
things are
just as fake
as if you
were in
a virtual world.

I never quite
understood that
until Tad
showed me,
proved how
much people
can lose
themselves
in fantasy.

I can't say
that I'm
immune.
Perhaps I'm
the worst
of them all,
but if there's
one thing
I have not
imagined,
it's that
matters
with the girl
are not over.

Maybe that's
fiction, too,
but I'm okay
with that.