A Roiling Cavity in my Chest

There is a cavity I feel in my chest that is sometimes filled with warmth, sometimes empty, and sometimes roiling this way and that. I can choose to disregard it when it is full, when it is empty, when it is roiling; and I can use my higher faculties – my ability to reason – to determine my actions and my thoughts. But even disregarded, the cavity and its contents can rarely be ignored. Enlightened stoicism makes a good person. Though dealing with the roiling cavity at times makes such a state precarious. I must sometimes shut down the cavity. But it is never entirely gone.

Right now it is roiling softly, but noticeably. I hope tomorrow it will not be.

Look at that Plaid Sport Coat

Look at that Plaid Sport Coat!
Brown, gray, yellow, white, and orange,
All criss-crossing horizontally and vertically,
And even, on the back-seam, matching up!

Man, that coat is loud;
You’d need some real balls to wear it.
But that Gently Tapered Waist,
those Functional Buttonholes, that
Delicately Woven Italian Wool…
It all speaks to some kind of boisterous subtlety.

Just look at that Plaid Sport Coat;
I think I could pull it off…
Me, in that Plaid Sport Coat.

Into the Void

I am shouting into the void. The void is not empty, but rather overwhelmingly full. My shouts and the shouts of nearly everybody else are drowned out by each other, and by a few dozen or hundred shouts that are heard loud, clear, and clarion above the cacophony of the others.

I suppose that is just as well. I don’t have anything worth shouting at the moment in any case. And yet the urge to shout persists. I don’t believe it is an urge for recognition or connection or communication in an increasingly pseudo-hyper-connected-but-likely-increasingly-weakly-connected world. I think it is instead just an urge to shout. Maybe to make use of certain muscles lest they atrophy from otherwise appropriate neglect.

A Disaffected Californian

An endless summer, alternating between pleasant and hot.
Paradise? For some, they live forever in short sleeves,
Never fearing the bite of an icy autumn wind,
Content with an unending, non-variable comfort.

But I want to live through seasons, through a bleak and relentless winter
Relieved by the buds of a spring that dissolves away the ice.
I yearn to live in tune with the breathing, beating heart of the Earth,
And to witness its slow radiantly golden death, as a chill wind blows into my bones.

Ten Haikus from the Mechanical Turk

Computer is warm
Am I working very hard?
or just wasting time?

—–

Laying on the couch
My farts smell worse than garbage
Suck it, everyone

—–

Her face is right here
Staring back at mine gently
I know I am loved

—–

I enjoy pizza
It’s absolute nirvana
But not Papa John’s

—–

The kids all have dreams…
Dreams of soaring through the sky,
Flying through the clouds.

—–

Love is a Rainbow
Let the light refract your heart
Many colors shine

—–

I hate all the snow
Winter has finally come
January sucks

—–

The cat wants some food
I fill the bowl to the brim
Cat is not hungry

—–

He sips the coffee,
Ouch! It’s too hot and burns him,
But he sips again.

—–

Watching Doctor Phil
Weightloss Episode Today
He has a book out

Waiting to Cross a City Street at a Crosswalk on a Chilly Morning

Pull your scarf up against your neck, for warmth.
At the crosswalk, the homeless man who presses the signal button
Stands, smiling, saying “Your light, lady, your light!”
To someone else.

He is kindly, but stupid. He presses the signal button today, tomorrow, yesterday
For weeks, months, years he has done this;
With nowhere to go, he talks to his ladies.
Because their light is green, their light!

It is the routine of the broken man
Who simply wants to make the Walking Man
Appear at the other end of the street, for his ladies.

The light has changed.

e-logy

I.

What has become of Mentor’s baudal beauty,
The search for knowledge, electronically pulsing with life?
It still hums, faintly, so faintly, barely perceptible,
Nearly drowned out by faces and tweets, deals and ads.
The world has co-opted our networks and computers,
They become acceptable, cool, for the stlyish and hip.
We have been co-opted by the corporate, by money and government;
We have been co-opted by the world; we have co-opted ourselves.

II.

From green on black, to white on black,
To CGA, EGA, VGA, more;
My neurons mature with progress, technology!
But I want to go backwards, and despite this, I don’t.

III.

A genius! Bound to succeed, though a tad antisocial;
But wow, that is cool shit he can do.
Ideas coded tightly into the black ether
Become actions and beauty expressed to us all.
The acme, the zenith, clarity of vision!
Of techno-arcana, he is an electro-magician.

IV.

But now many are magic, not just the pure
And so it grows all around us, and boxes us out.
We retreat from the cacophony, into ourselves,
And remember the days when we lived as might gods.
Perhaps we’ll return, to recognition and laurels,
But we likely will not; exclusion fits exclusives,
Though sometimes we glimpse at what we left behind.

V.

So let me don once more my top hat and monocle,
Put on my vest, and tighten my tie.
I shall pour again a glass of claret, and toast
That this one, dear friends, is for the lulz.