In Spite of the Obvious: Thanksgiving

Give of yourself in spite of the obvious. Thanksgiving: The Obvious. The obvious is ritual. Old Pilgrim legend embraced in Rockwell dining rooms, domestic American poultry divied up by the Cleaver's cleaver. Candied yams and merriment and please pass the cranberry sauce. Embrace ourselves in glorious grateful perfection. Not.

Offer our gratitudes and share in the bounty, yes. But why must we partake in the charade? We are family, in all of our truly obvious imperfections. We trade the country mile for jet planes and interstates. Weary are the travelers. And more the traveler are we on this particular holiday. We are tired on arrival. Full of rest-stop stress and strain. Come in! Sit down! You've only spent the last five hours on your ass.

No need to pretend all is well in your life, any more then I should mine. This year, Uncle Albert got laid off. Aunt Ida has cancer. Cousin Elvin came out of the closet. We are all disenfranchised in one form or another. But the truth is, we woke up this morning and, by God, there is a shit-load of food on my table! I've got beer in the fridge, wine, whiskey, there's wood for the fire. We have plenty to inbibe, and not just the spirits. I expect some laughter, so loosen up! The only impression to be made here is how much of YOU you leave behind. That, and maybe an impression of Sarah Palin or two.

Happy Thanksgivin'! *wink wink*

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Give, Obvious, Thanks

Creative Beauty

Creative beauty

Channels from the heart

Hastens humanity

From souls gaurded

Exposing self to elements

Bare to onlooking eyes

Shameless expression

Answers implicit,

To universal questions

Who we are

Why we are here

What will happen

The beginning

The end

Right

Wrong

Righteous

Wrongheaded

Headlong into oblivion

A rubbernecker's banquet

Cornucopia of tragedy

Comedy, drama, and horror

We, the open book

Needing to spill forth

The stories of life

Within one

Among all

We share

Interpreting: One Single Impression: Creative

Sunday Scribblings: Beauty

Little Saigon

The Viet down in Chelsea try to make their means. In the neon sparkled mist of Atlantic City's broken dreams. They scramble in the shadows of the casinos' gilded faux. Breathing life into a ward who's bones began to show. Lan secured a loan to lease a shop on Arctic Ave. To open up a restaurant he would give up all he had. The Vietnamese will lend a hand, as they're loyal to their own. They propped up Lan and cheered him on as he opened Little Saigon.

We can light the flame for every Little Saigon

Call it Ho Chi Minh by the Viet Cong

In the end, it's just an American song

For every broken dream here in Little Saigon

Lan would work the kitchen, his sister Mai would tend the floor. Mai was just sixteen with a face to be adored. The scent of lemongrass and basil and the warmth of sweet Mai's glow. Kept the customer's returning to a place where they were known. But like every ghetto mom-and-pop, there was more to pay than rent. Refuse to pay the gangbangers there may be an accident. The BTK from Chinatown were ruthless and obscene. They raped and killed his sister, Mai, when Lan would not come clean.

We can light the flame for every Little Saigon

Call it Ho Chi Minh by the Viet Cong

In the end, it's just an American song

For every broken dream here in Little Saigon

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Accident, Loyal, Obscene

Notes: This is a fictional ballad loosely based on real places. Little Saigon is a Vietnamese restaurant in the Chelsea section of Atlantic City, New Jersey. The setting of this pleasant establishment and the gentrifying neighborhood it resides were the inspiration for the story. The blight of gang violence in Asian communities in America is widespread and often underreported due to the cultural distrust of government in general by these communities. The BTK (Born to Kill) is a Vietnamese gang formed as an offshoot of Chinese gangs in New York's Chinatown. They were known to be extremely violent. While Atlantic City has been a magnet for mob activity of all kinds, any presence of BTK there is unknown to me.

Deep Ether

From the song, Requiem (One Way Home), a soul returns to whence it came.

"You live your life always fearing the end, but the end is the beginning, like a trusted friend

Back to the ether where we started from, our souls are in motion like the light of the sun"

Interpreting, One Single Impression: Reincarnation

Deep ether

Ancient swamp of souls

Clutching for the soular wind

Capture my sails and bring me forth

Once again into the spectrum of the living

Our white light in bloom through the prism of birth

Listen to "Deep Ether" here, if not in blogspot

Departing Alice

Departed is the love we used to share

That love was blinding

Never minding

The habits brought to bear

Consumed in you, my every day

Our carnal knowing

Ever showing

Our affections on display

We trade the glow for tolerance

Less love unending

Mere pretending

A tango-istic dance

Irritation is your very sigh

A sound like wheezing

Heart is freezing

Left wanting you to die

So raise a toast, to our precious love

The wine is malice

Dearest Alice

Depart for Heaven up above….

Interpreting One Single Impression: Departed

The Longest Night

Virgin frost

Meets the dawn

No slave to Karma,

The sun

Obey Lord Gravity

And axis atilt

Waning daylight cause

The stem to lilt

Wither and wuther

Autumn leaves

The arc of the sun

Falls to its knees

Repealing its warmth

To the evening sky

Driving fleet afoot

And winged to fly

Gnashing tooth upon the lingering bounty

The breathing ones sup

'Fore the sleep of the longest night

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Karma, Obey, Wither

Narcissus

Insecurity incubates behind the glow of vanity

Fueling the nightmare of the ruse

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Incubate, Nightmare, Vanity

Song for Brad

Thoughts and prayers for Brad.

Here's a song his father, Bob, wrote for him and his sib's, "The Kids' Song" .

Embrace the love and heal. Quell the anger, justice will be served.

Peace.

Crime

Bloody coincidence this word, "crime".

I awoke to the very real news that

my cousins 19 year old son was shot.

Once in the neck, once in the shoulder.

The latter wedged in his spine.

Be careful of who your "friends" are. And even more what you say. Brad made the simple mistake of making a Facebook update. A note that had a "friend" believe he had several hundred dollars cash on hand. And so his "friend" shows up with 2 other thugs and a loaded hand gun. Broke through the front door and demanded he hand them the money. Demand not met, bullets fired. Life on a thread. Sick fucking world we live in....

One Word, Crime. Please send prayers for Brad and his family.

Silence

Though it may appear that I have vanished, I shall fracture the blogospherical noise-floor with the sounds of Silence...


Silence is the deaf man’s call
The forest tree before it falls
It separates us one from all
An imp inside a tower wall

Drifting dense as morning fog
It casts its dew upon the log
Shrouds the meadow and the bog
A shrinking tail of polliwog

Silence is a muted choice
Sunlight warms the shroud and hoists
A founding wall upon the joist
And so from heaven, find our voice

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Fracture, Noise, Vanish

Call Me Son

So this Sunday Scribblings - New, is for Laini, is for expecting a baby. Congratulations and best wishes, Laini! My offering for new is in keeping with new life. I wrote this song ten years ago. It was written for my son a few weeks after he was born. I wrote it from his perspective, or at least how I imagined it. While he was "in utero" I would talk to him. Of course, to the casual observer I was talking to my wife's stomach. He would get a bit excited and kick and move (which probably explains why he is now a drummer!).

This had me wondering what it must be like to be him at that moment and subsequently joining the rest of us in our cold harsh world. That is the point of reference in the song.

I'm just an alien in this world

I know not where I come from, nor why I'm here

You are somehow not a stranger to me

You are a voice in this darkness I call home

I was dreaming conscious when I came

I have been waking slowly since that day

Although my eyes were open I just now start to see

You call me Ian Michael and that is who I'll be

I heard someone call me Son

I know I am not the only one

You are more than just a man to me

For I will call you father if you should choose to be

We are more than actors in this scene

You must be my teacher of what life means

I heard someone call me Son

I know I am not the only one

Call me son….

Call Me Son, should auto-play via the player below. If you are not reading from Blogspot, you can click the link in the previous sentence.

A Summer Moon

Summer's highest moon is nigh
Accentuate a shadow sky
Glamour lights the lions den
Balance pitch to Us and Them


-- Post From My iPhone

Three Word Wednesday offered these: Accentuate, Glamour, Pitch

Notes: "Us and Them", courtesy of Pink Floyd. (Click the link in the stanza).