Surfing Romance

This Valentine’s approaching, he asked for my address

To announce that I was not an e-pen pal merely.

Neither meeting nor even speaking since October 1st,

Over a Star Trek Convention we met in Parsippany NJ.

Three days in a lounge, of 8 of us, paying to be there.

An exclusive experience, meeting each other and the stars,

In 10 minute intervals, glimpse into secret realities.

Then emails, Christmas cards, phone exchanges, numbers only.

No calls. Invitation to another convention, but neither NJ nor Las Vegas, a small one.

Offering admission and air fare. Wow, surprising!

But still unreal, as intangible, and no convention listed online.

But Valentine’s! Something real, indicating I had moved

from a  lady met to a friend to a Valentine.

 

Does he dream of me? When did I become his object of desire? All we did was chat, in

writing mostly. Eleven years my senior, but smart, authoritative, retired military, and on

television even, once annually, with the POTUS. And he’s mysterious. All pluses.

Hopeful, gratified, but also non-plussed. Riding the wave, no more, no less.

Accept the gift, with thanks. See where it goes, as if there’s plenty of time,

with a teen-ager’s view of life. No pressure, no expectations.

 

I am a surfer on Waikiki Beach and he is the beautiful koa wood beneath my feet,

supporting me, to shore. Homeward bound, he carries me.

 

Without his support, I would have been swallowed by the wave. But instead, I rode him

confidently, aware that something fundamental inside of me had changed.

And the sunset, as a metaphor for our beginning, it too was unique and beautiful.

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Analysis of “Jungleland,” Bruce Springsteen’s Opus

In an interview on TV which aired about a year ago, after having written his personal memoir, Bruce Springsteen was asked which 5 songs were his favorite Bruce songs, which is hard to do, when you are Bruce, and all your songs come from your very soul, your own life experience. For me, I had to think as a diehard fan, who has only grown in my admiration for this artist, as the time drones on. But I was pleased to have guessed 3 of Bruce’s actual picks from the best songs he has ever written. One was fairly obvious, the track “Born to Run.” But for me, “Jungleland” was a true masterpiece of length, of a story of young love, of the futility of trying to assert control over your own life and love. And Bruce did pick this song, to my delight. We were in agreement on what an amazing song this is, of the search of young love, and the things that get in the way. And in some ways, the song rings true for me too, in the ambivalence of choices made, at tender ages, “as the girl shuts out the bedroom light, in whispers of soft refusal, and surrender…”

 

Yup, I have a real life tale, at Philadelphia’s now torn down Stadium, when I saw Amnesty International do a mega concert, which had Bruce playing too, one of 5 acts that whole day, with a friend, who came with me, who has since passed away, one year ago. So no one has first hand proof of what happened to me when Bruce opened up with that famous chord that signaled the only dreamt of, long denied, suppressed, screaming from the depths of my soul, where I fell on my knees, hearing “Jungleland,” and truly astonishingly, had an unusual physical reaction, which was only in the realm of fairy dust and spells…it is not to be physically described here, but which remains with me, to my dying day, that reaction I had…Because needed things in the body of a true fan need no real explanation…just believe, and it will come. And that day, it did! Oh my!

 

And so, in listening, over and over, with a magnificent coda by the immortal Big Man, Clarence Clemons, on a brilliant saxophone solo, making you think about the boy and the girl of the song, with a backdrop of teen rebellion, and the law not far behind, chasing young Bruce, whether in Freehold, NJ, or out on the boardwalks of the shore, with a girl who captured his sweet stony heart, with her soft hair, and pearly whites, running, but not too fast, because she wants to be caught, by him….And the depression of not having the right keys to open the lock, at the right time, he gets and gives what he can, but it seems like not enough…

Because the price is too high. “He winds up wounded, not even dead…” A horrible epitaph of longing unfulfilled, which is kind of like the living death, because death is at least clean, done, no more awareness of what you cannot have, because you lack the key that opens that door. Yes, this song really hits home for me. And the mists of time swirl around you, remembering past loves, and the AGONY and the ECSTASY OF not ever getting what you need, not really want anymore….Because the longing has surpassed that depth, of the “lawman running down Flamingo, chasing the rat, and the barefoot girl…” The metaphors and imagery are beautiful, and yet somber. And they stay with you, forever, wondering if the breath left in the body is enough, to actually catch that boy, who is now long since, a man. And you are long since, also, a woman, who left her heart in a darkly shrouded room, somewhere near Flamingo Road, chasing the dream.

The Bucket List Hero

Air as mellifluous flowing honey gliding between fingers

Sweetens the mood and the partners’ cartilaginous appendages.

Masseuse relaxes his muscles, lights the candle, applies cinnamon butter oil

on spa table for two. Couples massage suite with shower,

Jacuzzi and two and a half hours reserved time

Because it was on her bucket list: Couples massage (sex after?)

Ardently desired wishes take on a life of their own, he has found.

The Bucket List is Top Secret, known to few, but of supreme importance,

because the time is short. Murderous supremacists, Nazis, collaborators in government and NGO’s all conspire to annihilate us, one by one.

Platitudes in the media, an endless litany of funerals, of those taken too soon, of good people, innocent, biking, listening to a concert, going to school, church services, Walmart, movie theaters.

Literally everyplace is a soft target with the barrel of an AR 15 staring us down….

 

So this soul writes poetry as an act of rebellion against the inevitable.

I will not live, but my words will.

And in the meantime, hell yeah, there’s going to be some hollering going on, beneath the covers!

They will wonder what it feels like to be held by such a fragrant, long stemmed red rose blooming in the right conditions for him, who deserves to be The Bucket List Hero.

And the two shall never be the same, anon…

For the Woman is the Sphinx, with a riddle

And he is Oedipus, successful in his answer.

As such, he regains his life and lost love

Because to be without her was in fact death to him.

The two were one soul and united, they flew into the ethereal skies,

Entwined as lovers.

 

 

Do You See What I See?

Lemon scented gumdrops inserted into steel mesh stents

To block circulation, and kill, by a Blacklister hiding in plain sight.

No Hippocratic oath, just an education and no morals, sociopath

With a license to kill. Henchmen at his side. I can smell the ambiguity

And James Spader is in the background, nefarious as a scorpion

Hiding Secrets forevermore. What price power, currency?

Tricky allegiances, with law enforcement, the greater good,

To align oneself with known killers, who are in it for themselves,

But who are confidential informants, with not to be had knowledge

of the mass murderers, and the warmongers, who are the blue whales of

commerce, of the fate of the the entire human race….

 

And we wonder why we have reaped this President, and Kim Jong-Un?

We are the ultimate arbiters of our own fates. And lesser catastrophes will happen in plain sight, day by day, until we see that which we have sown, the seeds of our own destruction.

Like gummed up stents exploding in our chests, without warning.

Be prepared, for you know not the day or the hour. But the signs are there, nigh in the mirror of your visage, staring back, blankly.

Life Dreams, Lit Up

A haiku it is not, because I dislike strict constructs, 5, 7, 5

But succinct meaning in words desirable.

Hidden meanings, public audiences of friends, followers

Not saying what is wanted to be shown

Current love interest, but not on FB friend, yet

Very important. Dreams caught up, lit.

Because I want a public man to be with

And yet, it is so a tangled web, at this stage of life.

He is important, very much so. So secrecy will be necessary.

And I want to shout it from the rooftops!

Damn, to be me, with a large mouth, but also discretion

And desire to see it come to fruition.

I will keep quiet, in hopes of big dreams coming to me.

I think this one is different. Worth it.

 

Consequences of Voting: Nuclear Fallout?

Dystopian future of post atomic World War III, as big egos clash on world stage

Neither taking responsibility for the catastrophe, brought on by nuclear posturing

Narcissistic personality disorder, and the will to do it, without calm, careful analysis

Of what the order will do for each component country. Or even those in the periphery.

Like the non-technological Amish people, caught like lambs in an apocalypse…Completely not responsible, but victims anyway, by virtue of being members of the benighted USA, whose leadership is erratic and wholly not concerned about those whose life is impacted.

Nuclear fallout blows in the winds of our planet, so those who are not responsible get nucleonic particles, conferring cancer from radiation poisoning. Water and food all contaminated, animals dying too, hair falling out, some in blast zone instantly vaporized were lucky….

The only reminder of the world is 9/11/2001, as those who were blameless were taken in a single blast of hatred against humanity. And that day is singed in memory of billions worldwide. But from the darkness came the light, and many who were good, sacrificial, gave of themselves, to help, to recover whatever was recoverable.

The dead were vaporized however, from the World Trade Center, some anyway. No remains found, even now, unidentified, from dust, like nuclear fallout. Covering those who ran from the Ground Zero flames. We will never forget, and will always remember to be a force for good instead, to repudiate those who would do such tremendous evil.

 

Because the light conquers the darkness in the end. And God and His Army will triumph over Satan and his minions. Even when we have madmen who have personality disorders in high places in the government. Not just here either.

The good people who put this President in office could not foresee the havoc they have wrought in so doing. Let it not be that World War III start by virtue of that choice.

Keep the clash diplomatic, and not a flashpoint of warheads with nukes. The Amish, the Hmong, the victims of Harvey Weinstein all deserve better…Let not protein availability be confined to insects who survive this Apocalypse. We can’t eat roaches and termites, after all. Or merely draw the Revelation in magazine covers of Apocalypsis.

We were meant to be so much better than this, but alas: a failed experiment, this Humanity. And I am one of these too, undeniable. My species is corrupt!

America’s Got Talent: Darci Lynne

Moved to tears of joy, for young gifted singing ventriloquist Darci Lynne Farmer, with puppets aplenty

To have beaten a multitude of hopefuls, from all over the USA, at age 12, against 2nd place competitor Angelica Hale, aged 10, who was beyond fabulous also, as a singer with great range, and command of notes.

She put 2 puppets in competition with each other, male and female, funny as hell, with different voices, and then sang personal favorite “With a Little Help from My Friends.”

Just having taken up this craft 2 years ago, and to be this good at it?! And 12?! She also performed with truly legendary Las Vegas star Terry Fator, who is himself a delight to see on the Las Vegas Strip, the Mirage Hotel bearing his name in a theater. Another ventriloquist who sings, who won 10 years ago.

Give a little girl a platform, and watch her shine! The world is better today for her having won, because when you give this sort of thing to her, you have changed a life.

And her life changed thus is like rebirthing the whole world, by virtue of knowledge that one life changed for the better makes another life worthwhile. Affirm every talent you see in your fellow man! The microcosm of one is the macrocosm of all, in the Earth. What you have done for Darci Lynne has changed the trajectory of the entire planet! And given the rest of us hope for the future….

See and taste the goodness of every single person you meet. You may save or change a life for the better, and in so doing, your own life has had profound meaning. By loving another person, you have glimpsed the face of God…and in hugging and kissing that person, the bud becomes a beautiful mature flower. Conversely, when you reject without explanation, you cause the flower to wilt prematurely and die inwardly. So be respectful, and treat the other person the way we treated Darci Lynne last night: with love and joy!

The life you saved may be your own. Because we have a heavenly God, who keeps score on all of us. Do what you want done to yourself. Be kind and honest. And do not reject wantonly, with malice, lest it be your own fate later.