Thanks for lunchs*

On my 80th, surprised on consecutive
Saturdays with CZ family and friends,
young and old, 19,10,25, Prague
and Liberec, Czechia.

I promised the very moon,
but to reach up and touch it
was much beyond what I could.

So I decided now, soon,
to fix my ideas that fit,
and send to you what I would.

An imperfect little thing.
A bit of light in this dark.
Of love over our munchies.

Know that all words they do sing,
living-thoughts do hit their mark--
Much love fr'm thee--two lunches!

I know words are not so much,
in your scope, your life's riches.
Just the same--to me they count.

Because every byte is such.
Let not the snark of bitches
bring ya down from mounts you mount.

Each moment's, ah, our treasure,
worth much in no small degree
showing our heaven--living.

I thank you for your measure,
better than life's rougher seas.
You, your love, ours for, giving

meaning, youth and joy to me.
My wish for thee . . . will always be.

__________

* Translated here for non-EN speakers.

M

T

G

Y

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˘ / X 5 X 14 = _____t*

Revised: 12.10.25**

Today I heard him sing a song so sweet,
it made my eyes to tear and then I sighed.
But his he stared at her his joy a treat.
To me it was in truth to woe my stride.

For what to me of love she now seemed lost,
though yet I have my past our love to view.
Upon my soul I had my time with cost:
I miss the one I failed her soul to sue.

She was as she he did today give due.
His looks in rhyme he voiced with lace to thrill.
And I to self retreat poor words imbue.
My blame, insane, though yes, just now do spill.

Yet we must treasure joys we had they'll soothe.
Or love our past that love from ill we'll lose.

__________
* A little song for her who was the one.
** The first version confused the persona speaking with me/writer (hack). (That person and sentiment was not me.) This revision can be taken either way, persona-me or persona-imagined. Better, but that mixed metaphor is still troublesome at about "the ninth line [which] initiates what is called the "turn", or "volta", [signaling] the move from proposition to resolution", per https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sonnet.

One as tother

I wooed the women with words I'd written.

Most ignored such fluff, but some were smitten.

Not with true me as such did they so swoon,

but what struck them their resonating tune.

Funny this what we deem and so perceive,

given just what inside does gnash and seethe.

The outside other--first and last apart.

Our world is mine, my own deceit's deft art.

Would be that in two we both one had made, 

could greet and meet in Eden's peace sweet glade.

It is not to be for us, you nor me,

for me I am trapped, oh, on self same knee.

The world's out there, the universal rules:

Nature makes these our matches kind or cruel.

Illusions suffice when we're with others;

for want or need illudes one as tother.

That is as it is before each life starts.

Fate our mom wields the riddle--nature's part.

I can but blindly meet what's in your mind.

Know that's not me in there--that him is thine.

No salve nor 'Save us!' comes, this truth be told,

for we are as when young then and now grown old.

Emails sent

. . . to a brother who doesn't want me to sing "Happy Birthday".
    
Thu, Apr 15, 2021, 8:30 AM
    
Today is the birthday for Tav,
who every young chick he would have.
But when he grew old,
they started to scold:
Hey, on it your hand and more salve!

Thu, Apr 15, 2021, 8:27 AM

This day is a day to remember,
an event for one special member.
But I do not refer
to that thing in your fur!
Your sister's is in September.

Thu, Apr 15, 2021, 8:25 AM

The past is the past let it be,
for nothing's to be done you see.
Enjoy the moments this day--
A birthday say what? Hey!
Celebrate with us then we're three.

Thu, Apr 15, 2021, 8:24 AM

The future is not ours to see.
The wise wait and just let it be.
Now if fester you must,
you'll grow older and rust.
Shut the fuck up--with joy agree.

Thu, Apr 15, 2021, 8:24 AM

With my brother--like no other,
he worries he's like our mother.
But I can say with word firm,
(know I ain't like no weak worm!)
each is their own . . . want no druther.

---

and to my sister, and I also sang that silly song

How old you are (2019)

matters little after that last stage
when we embrace the day it comes--
thankful for this one more
when we rise, stretch
and greet the sun.

Miles and miles now:
full and empty,
triumphs and challenges,
sights seen and not . . .
people here now gone.

Know we had never imagined treasures,
along our ways in spite of wants
we wanted and futures we had to have.

With this date and day and age
and with these -stones,
we set all aside--
ah, much behind if less ahead.

These help us let go the grasp and grape--
For this day's sun and light.

Yes, as much a birth-day as another granted.
Count it too among thy expanding fullness.
Enjoy the life of smiles thus moments grateful.

We let go the rest
to die for the sun and light,
and time afforded.

Madness at the Movies

 Dr. James has writ a book.
Mad in movies is the hook.
Worth yer time--take good a look.

Fun to learn with care a read,
self and other see in deed.
First a trigger is a seed.

Plus art from artist divide.
Set intentions well aside.
Art and act as such betide.

There are worlds that hide a crook.
Psyche's realms'll show their nook.
Mere opinion we'll not brook.

Read this book 'nd you'd be wise.
And view the films with yer eyes.
Weigh the ills thru actors' guise.
Be ye but common​ like in size,
or take ​these things to scholarize.
Gems're here to mizerize.

Grab these and take, I su pose,
our dear doctor's friendly prose.
It's as with wine use yer nose.
He weaves the words as he goes--
film-world glitter, and our woes.
But for god, one's fate there flows.

Caution: context be your guide--
no facile fact Jim lets it slide.
Each chapter and end abide.
We come to calm with the tide.
Take the stock: we've had a ride.

Madness at the Movies--Go!
Now will Jim to write some mo?
Of course, with this we hope​ so.
Now at wit's end and our love,
whether not Jim says nope​.

​Ah.

Forgive, forget, forgo with a shove--
all the dog'ral like this above.

To Harold the hoarder

Jun 30, 2016, 10:49 AM, a missive to my dearest . . . oh, better not say.

[begin message]

Dearest Harold (the Hoarder),

Thank you for your message. I read it with compassion, but a pain in my heart. Compassion we need not dwell upon, mere sentimental and useless BS. But of pain must I speak, being a person of the cloth, your humble servant, bringing you ideas and words you, sadly, cast into the wasteland from which your materialism grows. My faith in your salvation continues, and so . . . 

I recall you once threw a dildo away. Blessings, my son, for therein is an evil material thing. Why, with dildos, what woman has use of a man and his member? Is it not better to cast the thing from you and use your own, Gypsy-given tool to satisfy yourself and your woman? Besides, dildos need batteries to work and they wear out and you have to buy more. With a dildo you now have more things to worry about. You performed a good deed by casting that thilthy thing aside.

I recall you once hoarded an empty box. Is it not so? Cast it also away. It is the occasion for sin, for you might put something in it and then where will you be? A man with a box now filled--you have two material things whereas before you had one. See how this error in your ways multiplies? And what if you put more than one thing in the box? You will forget all of what you have in there before nature takes your memory away from you naturally. What a tragedy! We need no stinking boxes.

Does not the scripture say that to enter the kingdom of heaven you must pass through the eye of a needle? It indeed does. In the Holy Book of Gypsy it says that the damned will swim in their belongings on the lowest level of hell, for there is where all human waste and material objects will sink and mire those who would not forsake and let go with their grubby little hands that which they could not part.

Ah, pain in my heart. Save thy self before it is too late. You don't wish after you part to be thrown into that infinite storage unit below with all that crap and all the crap that other hoarders and materialists have accumulated. Think of it. All that plastic and refuse and tools you can't use in the afterlife. You will be unable to grasp any of it with your immaterial hands. You will still, however, get a monthly bill for storage. Material hell is not a fair nor pleasant place.

Ponder and continue to pay until you are forced to yell, "Uncle!" or, "Pastor, help me. Help me. I'm drowning. I'm drowning."

So ends this message from Word-of-the-Day Salvation and Redemption services, a non-profit church for the overly burdened souls of color on this earth. You being a whitie of some pinkish color, not politically of course.

I.M. Free

PS Where did you throw that dildo? Is there any way of recovering that and having a quick . . . ?

 

[end message]

Same goes for mortals

The Writer's philosophy revolves around a deep love of knowledge characterized by careful, clear, systematic, rational, reflective, and critical thinking about fundamental ideas on any subject with the goal of understanding and wisdom. This philosophy emphasizes the highest expression as asking questions and proposing well-considered answers for right action.

The Writer reflects on the nature of self and consciousness, acknowledging the complexity of human experience and the importance of personal evolution through writing. Writing is seen as a form of self-therapy [sic] and exploration rather than for an audience, focusing on identifying and clarifying thoughts as they appear in consciousness.

There is also a recognition of the challenges posed by mechanical and staunch adherence to beliefs without awareness, which the Writer fears could hinder cultural progress and saner choices in society.

Ultimately, the Writer values shared humanity, hopefulness, and the potential for learning, growth, and creating a more just and equitable world despite the complexities and messiness of life.

If you believe all of that--about me, this voice--you will err. What do others, even AI in this instance, based on reading 50 posts to this blog, know? Not enough. Not the whole person. Not even what the Writer is hiding by not addressing, e.g., his/her dark side, and regrets (i.e., faults/errors).

So no, do not believe everything you read, and let not words represent the person you think you know.

"No other is privy to who I am," said God. Same goes for mortals.