meditation

all the language around me
is either lecture or therapy-speak
the occasional stray hair of business-speak
there is no conversation
no communication
just stiff, locked words like soft bricks
they build a wall that sometimes flexes but never gives

not for the first time sitting at a stoplight
i had the thought that i should learn to meditate
followed by the thought that it might be ok
if i never heard a word uttered by the human voice again
or saw a word typed out on a screen again
it's a silly thought, a despairing thought, a frustrated thought
but during stoplight moments it feels like truth

i want to find where language is alive
but i don't know where to search
or perhaps that's an excuse
i often think so
and then i return to silence
so when words do come
they can carry the weight of heaven

but heaven is another form of death
and i'm back to dead language
to no conversation, no communication
as much as i love poetry
it has yet to change the world
and that's a horse
i'm not going to start betting on

meditation
is starting to look good.

two sentence stories: thanksgiving 2016 edition

"I'm just ready for a new identity," she said as the clerk behind the counter at the convenience store removed her arm with a swing of the machete. "And then I want a donut."

A deep sigh escaped her as she pushed back from the desk and stood up, holding the small metallic object between her fingers. Soon he would return to his cube, and the news she had to deliver would change things dramatically.

Following the locusts, he made his way down the highway, climbing over abandoned cars. He stopped only to retrieve a partially torn bag of Doritos that had gone stale.

The exchange is a failed dance, the same as every other attempt for the last seven years. In a public place, the alleys are filled with anxious allies and the battery life of all devices is significantly reduced.

on one week in November in the year 2016

Just shy of three years ago I read, over the course of a month, Richard J. Evan’s excellent Third Reich Trilogy, which “cover the rise and collapse of Nazi Germany in detail, with a focus on the internal politics and the decision-making process.” (Wikipedia.) My motivation was twofold: 1) I wanted to try and understand how something as horrendous as the Holocaust could happen, and 2) I was worried about the current political climate, where I saw less debate, critical thinking and civility, and more shouting, obstructionism and occasional fanaticism and that such things could lead to some new form of fascism taking place. Today, my worries seem both prescient and quaint. I most certainly did not think a few short years later I’d be sitting here trying to wrap my head around a Trump presidency. If I was spot-on to be worried, I was blind to recognize signs. Or I was unwilling to acknowledge them fully and do anything about them. It’s that last that is not leaving my head alone right now.

We don’t live in a fascist state. Not yet. There’s a lot of heated rhetoric being thrown around—this seems to have been the general tone of our public discourse the last 20 or so years and it shows no sign of stopping. One of the things I struggle the most with is how to keep informed of what is actually happening without burying myself in the cesspool. To simply disconnect from all media will not actually solve any of this (though doing so in short bursts is, I think, sometimes necessary for sanity.) Neither will immersing oneself in it 24/7. At some point, you simply can’t win a shouting war. How do we change the conversation? How do we acknowledge our rage and hurt without letting it destroy us? How do we stop the cognitive dissonance?

We (referring here to those who live in the United States) don’t live in a fascist state, but I do believe we live in an oligarchy. I’ve felt this for some time. Perfect democracy may not exist, but if we don’t work to build an inclusive, loving society we will lose what shreds remain. I don’t know about you, but I’ve never liked bullies. They run on insecurity and fear and ugliness. I’ve been beaten up by a few in my time. I learned to fight back. I’m mad right now, and I’m confused, and I’m full of despair. But I’m also energized. And I refuse to give up hope. To do so is to betray my children and their future. To betray the future for all of us.

I have many questions and few, if any, answers. I have never been afraid of learning or of hard work. Both will be needed.

And I will continue to create. Art is empowering and art heals. In the wise words of Neil Gaiman: “Make good art.” The world needs it.