This Empathetic Song

This Empathetic Song

“Depression, suffering and anger are all part of being human.” – Janet Fitch There’s a little girl who lives with me. She’s amazing in every single way that I could think of and she finds a way to make me smile every single day. I don’t know how she does it, but my head could be doing whatever my 37-year-old head is doing at any particular time and, no matter what rabbit hole I’ve entered, she can usually bring me out of it. So, when this little girl who lives with me is starting to raise questions of self-worth, a piece of me dies, a piece of me cries, a piece of me smiles, and a piece of me is warmed. The heart-strings in this empathetic song are resonant. My little roommate is going through the first change from a little girl, into a little person. Her needs are no longer animalistic and basic. Her needs are much deeper. She is beginning to wonder who she is. Not even ten years into this existence she is starting to feel the pressure with existentialism. That is something that she doesn’t know about at this time, but it brings her closer to her father than she could ever know. She is sharing in something that is so fundamentally human, and it is exciting to be a part of. She hasn’t opened the door to true existentialism, but she is knocking. She’s asking these first questions in her head. She is broaching the subject of self-worth. The gateway drug to philosophical pontifications. Like her mother before her, and her mother before hers,...
We Are Not Privileged

We Are Not Privileged

“Love and compassion are necessities, not luxuries. Without them humanity cannot survive.” – Dalai Lama Swiftly, shakily, steadily I slide down the sleep induced slurry of the sewage spitting out of strangers mouths. I can’t seem to find my way away from the increasing idiocracy of America. My prolific posterior is becoming bruised from the constant onslaught of condescension within our communities. One idea after the other. One feeling after the other. One conversation after the other. One belief after the other is met with such hatred and delusion – but this delusion has become an allusion of elusion. We are running. We are running from everything we do not understand. We don’t understand what we don’t understand. It’s easier to not understand. For if we don’t understand we could never be held accountable. If you cannot be held accountable, then the status quo is blissfully adequate. Not acceptable – just adequate. By building these silos, we are no longer a nation of neighbors. Our faces are buried behind the screens. Our blue faces have developed a furrowed brow and our smiles have traveled south. Our thumbs mindlessly, absently scroll to the next story. The next status. The next pic. The next hashtag. And we blindly press share. We didn’t read the article. We don’t have time for that. We liked the headline. We liked the idea. We shared an idea. That idea was met with hatred and delusion. We no longer have ideas. They have been taken from us. They have been stolen from us. Ideas are subjective idioms that are becoming increasingly illegal in this industrious aristocracy....
White Lies

White Lies

  “I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.” – Pietro Aretino I’m going to the well again. Oh well, again. It’s hard to begin to explain the strain that society has put on humanity again. When nine-year-old brown eyes slowly look up at me, capillaries exploding with dubiety and inquisition, my mind melts and freezes – a verbal stroke stumbles sleepily out of my stupid mouth. Seven-year-old green eyes quickly look up at me, and asks if everything is okay in innocence and ingenuity. Another verbal stroke followed by convulsions of the heart. It’s hard to begin to explain the strain that society has put on humanity again. Through my mental seizures I question why these eyes are viewing these reddened and blackened skies, and if I should just hug them with little white lies. White Lies. White Lies. White lies beneath all of this rubble of black, yellow, and red stones. Foundations of our society – cornerstones of humanity. White lies beneath all of this demolition. Demolishing this beautiful landscape we call life. White lies decapitating discerning discourse. What happens when we can no longer sit down and listen to the traditions of our fellow humans and learn from their experiences and learn from their pasts and learn from their presence? It’s hard to begin to explain the strain that society has put on humanity again. What happens is that we begin to notice our differences – and we become frightened. We tell White Lies. We lie. We...

I Don’t Have Room in my Heart

“No guns but only brotherhood can resolve the problems.” – Atal Bihari Vajpayee So, in the past few days, I have been experiencing something that I am not used to. It started Friday for the most part. Thursday night, maybe. But definitely Friday. It was the start to a weekend where I had to work all Friday night. I’m used to being with my family every Friday. It was not a great big deal, because I have one of the best jobs around. I don’t feel that I am working when I’m at my job. In a weird sense, I feel that I am hanging out with anyone I come into contact with at work. It’s an amazing feeling. It’s a feeling. But, I also had another feeling. A feeling. A sense of impeding longing for my family. You see, in addition to being gone all Friday night, I was also going to be away all Sunday. For a good reason, though. The Chicago Cubs played the final game of the season on Sunday at, perhaps, my favorite place on the planet – Wrigley Field. It was a glorious day too. At times it was hot. At times it was cool. Beautiful. I took my son to the game, together with my parents, sister and nephew. I took Miles to see the World Series trophy – something I had waited 36 years to see and something he doesn’t understand at the age of seven. A weird butterfly-y happiness ejaculated into my stomach. There’s a picture of it on my Instagram. I follow the Kanye rules to photography almost exclusively. This...

Artificial Affectations

  “I believe in the resistance as I believe there can be no light without shadow; or rather, no shadow unless there is also light.” Margaret Atwood – The Handmaid’s Tale My voice fell silent a bit ago. It’s not that there wasn’t anything to say, it just stayed quiet. Sometimes silence is soothing. It is the serenity in the sea of artificial affectations that have come to eradicate every essence of existentialism in America. See, when we fall silent, we give into the American pretense. We fall in love with the allusion that all is well over the amber waves of grain. I fell in love. I fell in love hard with the notion that by not raising my voice, but not straining my vocal chords, by not exercising my fingers on the keyboard, by not engaging in meaningful discourse, I was solving the problem. I apologize. I apologize to all humans. Not to Americans. Not to white men. Not to black men. Not to women. Not to Muslims. Not to Christians. Not to atheists. Not to scientists. Not to artists. Not to children. To everyone. To all humans. We lose sight of what really matters when we begin to dichotomize everything. For those of you out there, there is no black or white. There is only gray. Gray is what allows humans to advance as a civilization. When we begin to look at things as black and white, we face our inevitable destruction. We look forward to a future reminiscent of Margaret Atwood’s, The Handmaid’s Tale or Madeline L’Engle’s dark planet of Camazotz in A Wrinkle in Time. Where...
Dreams

Dreams

“Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly.” – Langston Hughes Dreams The ebbs and the flows create an undertow in your soul, pulling you farther and further out. Your chest fills with thrills, your skin chills with pills. Soft slumber never interrupted, never corrupted by the assonance and resonance of antiquation. The ebbs and flows create a rhythm in your schism pulling you further and farther in. The blades of grass cry as the shiver in the morning sun. The morning sun makes you shiver as you rise from your...
Sometimes

Sometimes

“Aging gracefully is one thing, but trying to slow it down is another.” – Courteney Cox Sometimes Sometimes I look at my dog and she still looks like the puppy I got almost eight years ago. Sometimes I look at the mirror and I wonder what happened to the eight-year-old in the reflection. Sometimes I look at my daughter and she still looks like the baby that escaped the womb eight years ago. Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I wander. Sometimes I want. Sometimes I wish. Becoming unstuck in time is a dream that all dreamers wish to dream while they are dreaming. Sometimes I sleep. I sleep harder than the sleepers in the stone pastures. And then I wonder. And then I wander. And then I look at the mirror to decide where I’m unstuck or if I’m stuck. My dreams are playing mean tricks on me. Sometimes I want to know if my dreams are the dreams of dreamers sleeping in the stone...
No Substance

No Substance

“Average working people need more fresh starts. Big corporations, banks, and Donald Trump need fewer.” – Robert Reich   No Substance The brain fires and seizes as the stimulation saturates every inhibition that is inconsequential. Discussions become debilitating – rendering you a child. Solutions guaranteed to separate. No substance where substance is needed. Robbing the hood instead of embracing Robin Hood. Fully intoxicated, under the influence, out of control to connect to your peers. Treat the elite more elite. Treat the poor poorer. Don’t care about Offending the Noetics and every other American. Lie to and Denigrate everyone That can Reasonably call themselves a person. Unfairly Mocking the Physically unable In a way that Shames one of the greatest Societies is Horrifically Insensitive To any human being. We see through the bloodshot eyes, the dripping nose, the unquenchable thirst. We see through...
The Shadow

The Shadow

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and shadows will fall behind you.” – Walt Whitman The Shadow The shadow raged over the city, creating dusk from dawn – night from day. The people fall to their knees, hands on top of their heads – chins on the ground. A chill came over their body as the dark air placed its frosty fingers on their cheeks. Cold Colder Coldest The shadow took its victims – one by one by one. The victims give in to the grip the shadow has over everything and everyone. The victims are left Cold Colder Coldest Frozen in time Frozen in life Frozen in...
Sun-Shower

Sun-Shower

“Tears of joy are like the summer rain drops pierced by sunbeams.” – Hosea Ballou Sun-Shower The sun smiled softly as it hugged the trees, wishing them a good night. The clouds blushed as their warm friend went to rest, preparing for the next day. They gathered together and cried and cried and cried, washing away their blush – highlighting their dark shadow. The thirsty grains of dirt raised their blades to catch each precious droplet that fell over the lids of the clouds’ eyes. Not ready to sleep for the night, the sun stared at the clouds’ tears and threw its hands in all directions, trying to play in the summer rain, one last time. The bright sun-shower invited its gay friend to come and play before the sun went to bed for the night. The sun-shower’s gay friend wore a bow and a dress of many colors. The gay friend’s face brightened and he fell to the ground in delight. The sun’s heart was filled with glee as it smiled with a sigh and a yawn. The sun finally rested – just in time to see the twinkle in the moon’s...