Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Show me.

There is now time
for the cryptic to pass,
for the presumption to leave,
for the straight forward to walk
and the rest to leave.
Show me.
Take me by the hand 
and show me.
Let next pass.
This that shall see, me.
In complete.
This, in its time to be.
Show me.
The Complete Stories
"Listen here," he said. "I don't care if he's good or not. He ain't right!"
Is he? Right?
O'Connor devoted her short life to writing,
a serious Catholic woman from Georgia, a pinch of cynicism from the South.
The stories are said to be bizarre and haunting
colored I'm certain by the beliefs and readings of a youth dipped
in old religion and the virtuous twists in old worn torn stories,
words that raise fists in the air.
A view perhaps of a world
we do not wish to live in,
and yet she did
for a brief while
and brought us this.
The Complete Stories.

What you fight for ... the same as what I fight for.

What is it that you fight for?
Be careful,
when you turn around, you will see that
I, and we, fight for the very same things.
Me and you.
It is not a game of winning, but of getting,
achieving, of believing.
Did I believe in the wrong thing?
Are you sure?
Are you?
What you fight for,
I fought for too.
Remember where your line is drawn,
 draw it twice
for us two.
The Fight
I've never been a fan of Mailer.
Easy to understand why.
He's a man's man read that leans a little to narcism in its approach,
but that's not to say the voice
isn't appreciated in its sometimes pathological fear of change, evolution, development,
gender roles. Ah, the list does go on and on.
Still, we want a multitude of voice,
and a strength in them,
let them say and engage as they wish and will.
So Mailer,
give 'em a go,
give it a shot.
At the very least, it might stir you up
in some infinitesimal way.

Churchill, no man to punish ...

Let us, do.
Let us feel something, anything, just to beat against mediocrity's bleakness.
It doesn't matter that it draws lines on a face,
and turns a mouth into a hard drawn space.
Look at the men. Look at the women.
Look at their face.
This is what they do, without capacity,
they know little better,
base in knowledge,
they can not understand.
So, they will become something else,
to feel something else,
for this that eludes them.
Is the line drawn shallow in sand.
"Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak;
courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen."
This, from Churchill, who I am presently obsessed.
Take your stand,
make something you believe
How could he have set the artist Sutherland's portrait alight?
Ah, a man and his ego,
through and against that which is time.

Look and you shall see.

Look with me now.
Look: Poems
When you see.
The tremors beneath.
And the faces of old who look back with wonder.
To see those things, and how they are now different,
And yet you understand them to be the same.
It’s when you dare look,
Behind the mirrored walls,
Beneath the watchful,
Beyond a deep blue,
When you look up and past and you somehow understand,
Those things,
In fairness and not,
In love and in not,
In fortitude of loss and gain,
In strength, in pain,
In truth, in deceit,
You see all,
And somehow they have changed,
And yet somehow too, remain.
Look now.
Look deeply,
And there,
 you shall see to look again,
Look Again

Friday, November 25, 2016

Patch that Path.

Walking the same path, what do you see?
What are you willing to open your eyes to?
Each step taken is respect for the past, and
a child's wonder at the future.
The interconnectedness of us all,
nature and history.
The Path: A One-Mile Walk Through the Universe
So too, when you go through life, and you make your up and down mistakes along the way,
just remember,
that to talk,
to open your heart, to mend your broken paths,
is not as insurmountable as it may seem.
You do, however, have to move those feet along those cobbled stones,
and it might just be that you're taking a different direction.
That's okay.
Be honest of heart and of mind,
and you will see.
The path.

Thursday, November 24, 2016

The conviction of the convinced.

The convinced with conviction
and the thing about being "convinced" is you can damn well convince yourself of almost anything.
I have sat in this way,
with my own conviction,
in my own way,
I became "convinced," so very convinced.
This had to be, this belief thing, do you see,
otherwise what does anything mean?
ConvictionThe Life of Mahatma Gandhi
Spin in a circle, watch the world spin.
You can forget everything else around you at that time, and if you
 don't keep an eye on one grounded thing, you'll lose your balance in all that remains.
If you ever fall in love, you will know this feeling.
You will not be able to equate it, or explain it, or even understand it.
There are other things that may do this too,
 for love and passion can be of your own life's desire, your own goal and accomplishments,
but I dare say they spin less and stand more solidly still.
Let's call it your aim, that mountain there yonder.
But, I go back to conviction,
that utter belief in whatever it is you believe.
It's a wondrous thing to have that belief, in what it may be.
It's meant to mean something to you.
Belief is that solid thing inside you that doesn't shift your perspective.
It keeps you moving forward, toward, and when you look back
you might just shake your head,
and you might end up squeezing your conviction into a space in your heart,
but belief.
Convince the convinced.
Do you see?
This is the world we see. 
"A woman who is convinced that she deserves to accept only the best challenges herself to give the best. Then she is living phenomenally."
Maya Angelou
The Heart of a Woman

Apathy for the Apathetic.

Yep, I was that.
I waited on a particular book's release, put myself on a advance order
and checked the post box every day thereafter.
It came.
Glorious cover and a promise of a story I would love.
I fell completely in love with the last one,
so why not this one, right?
I mean that was what all the anticipation was all about, right?
Love, right?
And no, it's none of the titles below,
and I'm not going to name names cause I don't want my opinion running over the top of anyone else's.
This is my moment of apathy, and I'm not sharing it
well, not completely.
The One We Fell in Love With
See, it's all about expectation.
The author gave you exactly what you wanted before,
so you expect it again.
Maybe, that's the point.
Maybe, it's in our expectations that we build up what ends up as unobtainable.
We create this want of desire,
and we desire and want, and sometimes hell, we just deserve.
So, I'm on 100 pages,
and it's like,
"I don't care."
It is such a disappointment, but if these characters happen to just
take the wrong step and fall off the side of the earth,
I'd just shrug.
It sounds incredibly mean, I know, but that's how it is.
Even if you wish someone ill,
or you wish someone better,
you have some element of care as to what might and could happen.
I've stopped caring.
I don't give a rat's ass.
I am really, really, surprised by that.
See, I never really liked apathy very much.
To me being apathetic is one of the most dangerous and non-living just existing things you can ever be.
To not care just leaves that door wide open
to just about anything, and I don't think any of it could be very good.
Now me as person has a tendency to care too much.
Oh hell, yeah, way, way too much.
That's a different kind of leaving the door open,
and a lot of that can be ridicule.
People that tend to lean a little more towards the apathetic arena
are going to have real trouble understanding someone who feels too much.
That gap is going to be pretty wide, right?
And that's where the apathetic side of me kicks in.
Who gives a shit.
Apathy and Other Small Victories
So, the book.
I'm staring at it right now, and it's looking back at me with this kind of look that says,
"Well, how about it? You going to finish, or what?"
I'll think about it,
but I already know I will.
That's the other thing about the apathetic,
they really want a chance at looking at the other side of things.
They want it turned around, turned over.
They want that expectation.
Expectation, right?
I could write a book on that.

Wednesday, November 23, 2016


Some things you just can't hide.
The look you don't 
need words to explain.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

The Land of the Long White Cloud.

This place,
where the land pulls at your soul.
 Like the arms of a lover's warm embrace it tugs you to it,
holds you firm,
keeps you safe,
and stirs in you the deepest of longing.
This is a place of history and time, and love and war, and you feel it in the very earth,
in the fog that skims and boils.
You see the canoe as it passes through,
and the hands on the oars as they dip and pull,
and your own reaches to touch the water.
You feel it then.
The tug on your fingers.
The clasp of hands.
You see what this was,
and the stories that walk footsteps across the land. 
You celebrate the people.
You celebrate the strength to remember,
to hold,
this place of the Long White Cloud.
This land.
The LuminariesThe Bone PeopleOnce Were Warriors (Once were warriors trilogy, #1)Mister Pip
God bless.
May you find your place amongst the long white clouds,
and let feel the past present with the future
as a promise,
as what you will,
as you move forward.
This place,
like a lover's warm embrace,
that touches still
your soul.

Sunday, November 20, 2016

Great Expectations.

I have expectations.
The thing about expectations is we expect them to be met.
That, my friend, is a very great thing.
Without expectations,
we expect nothing.
So, yes.
Definitely. Yes.
Great Expectations
Guilt. Desire. Redemption.
Take your pick.
Great Expectations, stirs it all
and expects in the mix.

Saturday, November 19, 2016

The Voss Award Prized Shortlist. Australian Lit.

Voss Awards.
There is one on this list who shared studio space at the same time as me
during the writing of this book.
Yes, the studio,
with ceilings and walls, and voices that said
it's all in the knowing,
techno poised.
You will hear many things,
if you listen.
You will learn.
It is all about what you take in, and what you are given.
I was given studio space.
A gothic mansion it was, and still is,
with beautiful moldings on ceilings and sharp steepled roofs,
untouched by time.
A curious place, a haunted place, but still a place of writers.
It was there that one of the shortlisted was writing
the very book selected. 
It will, if for that reason only --
and of course there are many more --
be my pick.
Coming RainThe World Without UsThe Life Of HousesA Guide to BerlinThe Natural Way of ThingsThe Waiting Room


To translate most often
refers to one language translated into another,
but we translate many things.
We translate body language, facial expressions,
tone, conversation,
or perhaps we interpret, manipulate, or structure those things
to fit a certain message we want to convey,
or we want read in a certain way.
Translate. Interpret.
One could say one in the same,
and sometimes we interpret incorrectly.
I know this, of course, as we all do.
We have all read something incorrectly. Stood in front of someone who wanted to portray something else.
We have all second-guessed what we knew ourselves to be true.
Our hearts never lie. This I know to be true, or maybe they do.
I wonder about our own translations,
and yet there will always be one or more that will know and see
that the interpretations are not at all as they should be.
They will watch from a distance.
They will note and see what lies beneath and pluck it up like it should be plucked free.
It knows.
I know.
If I had a bountiful of language at my disposal, I know I would choose the right
passage. I would see beneath like I were reading the pages and words of any book.
I know this, for I know that which is beyond reach.
Let whatever face you wish face out into the world.
We see. Translate. We know.
The Gospel According to Jesus ChristAll the NamesThe DoubleThe Cave
And if you read, as I am doing, Saramago,
a Portuguese translation, 
you wonder how it is that one can make the same intention sing in another language.
Can it be read the same way,
felt the same way?
It must be a tremendous achievement to take someone's
work and make it work in English,
to find those right phrases, those right words.
A definite achievement.
How about you?
What do you play at
in your translations and interpretations?
Are you sure you're getting
it right?
Retirement places where we put our feet up,
perhaps one day we will reflect on what it is we interpret and translate
correctly in our own lives.

Friday, November 18, 2016

I was asked, the other half.

The half's.
What half's do you give, understand, take, accept?
I was asked.
The answer only half.
And, the other half?
The other bits that stay and talk, but do not say.
The child walks, but does not know.
The faces look, but do not see.
The other half,
exists between them and me and you.
The half.
Talk back.
The Other HalfThe Other Half of Me: A NovelThe Other Half of Life: A Novel Based on the True Story of the MS St. Louis
The Other Half Of My HeartThe Other Half of My SoulHow the Other Half Banks: Exclusion, Exploitation, and the Threat to Democracy
Half a King (Shattered Sea, #1)Half Truths (The Half Bad Trilogy, #0.6)Half Wild (The Half Bad Trilogy, #2)

Wednesday, November 16, 2016

Jose Saramago.

This, a man who's starting point is not, "Once upon a time,"
but, "What if?"
Jose Saramago.
There is nothing more to say,
except read him, if you want to be probed to "think,"
or perhaps prompted to "feel."
In Death With Interruptions, 
we see death as an old woman who sends purple letters to inform of impending demise.
"One can not have everything in life. What it gives with one hand,
the other takes away."
Still, this is a story of love winning over death,
a pure illusionistic dream.
One that is free.
Death with InterruptionsAs IntermitĂȘncias da Morte

Anger to Action. Open Palms. Open Words.

Your voice.
Your words.
That which stopped in its place,
that which changed pace.
Lack of words. Too many words.
Words that should not have been said. Words that needed to have been said.
Words that should have been said.
For your anger and your action.
The feelings of America at present in its time of uneasy unrest.
From the Hub,
books that press that button,
anger to action.
This is about speaking up and speaking out.
Do not let your voice drown into obscurity.
as one, together.
The words on hold.
Mover para ganar.
Passer Ă  garner.
The Handmaid's TaleVivas to Those Who Have Failed: PoemsFahrenheit 451
In the Time of the Butterflies1984Native Son

Tuesday, November 15, 2016

Do you think you can? This State of Wonder.

I wonder,
as I ponder,
as I look and toss through the words that are as much
a part of you and me as our souls.
I wonder,
I ponder.
Do you think anyone can take your heart and
squeeze what exists out?
Do you think that is something someone could control
in a world where there is so much?
I wonder,
I ponder,
who would think they could possibly ever change mine?
The State of Wonder.
State of Wonder
Morality and Miracles.
Where in between do both exist?
Science and Sacrifice.
Where in between do we find that peace?
Our State of Wonder.
I leave you to wonder, and ponder your own thoughts, your own words,
your own hearts.
In this which remains.

Sunday, November 13, 2016

Blind? No, no, not that.

Blind as a bat?
No, it's deeper than that.
Take it through the looking glass.
Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, #2)
We believe what we want to believe,
what we need to believe.
I suppose it comes down to belief in oneself, that what we saw
actually exists, and is as real and true as what is.
You do not necessarily have to hold it in your hand.
It's just to know that it is.
If you do not see, I can not help with that.
We see as we want to see.
We believe in that place,
that one space.
It's that center,
no one knows where it exists,
but you. 
No, it is not that.
I think if you see, and saw,
you would say that you saw more than most.
To see,
Through the Looking Glass and What Alice Found There.
What did she find?
Do you know?
If you can see, look.
If you can look, observe. 
The Book of Exhortations.