Heads and Tails

tail lights skidding across a flat black sky
on through the night, paired red hots fly
lacquered nails rake through raven hair
tears of blood stain a face so fair

one headlight, the Cyclops goes home
a piercing sword of justice, the mortician's comb
bright beam of mercy stirs gentle winds of fate
It winks and is gone through the pearly gate

Comments

For the past week I have sat down on numerous occasions to write some Christmas epistle, some thought provoking essay or lyrical diddy on the heart and passion of the season. And there was so much I wanted to write about... But this time of year always brings such intense and conflicting emotions for me, it's hard to straighten things out. It's rather like one of those Mensa brain puzzles. The longer you stare at it the more confused you become and yet all the more desperate to figure it out. It's a frustrating and nakedly paralyzing experience, especially for one so mentally introverted. But I've frantically clawed, picked and scratched at my disconcerting enigmas far too long. Self-autopsies can never be very informative or rewarding experiences... I think I'll feed the haunting spectres of my puzzling and unfinished thoughts with a little cider, and give them rest amidst the tireless pirouettes of sugar plum faries... Drink and sleep are amazing salves to the wounds of frustration and confusion.

Comments

"I don't believe in God, but I'm afraid of him."
-Keaton, Usual Suspects

Listening to...

Sugar Ray - Waiting

Waiting for the night to start
Waiting for the night to change your ways
There are days missing in my week again
And there's not a cloud in the sky
But my view from the Hollywood Roosevelt
Makes me feel like I can fly
I should maybe make some apologies
And I probably should fix my hair
But I might just stay another night
If my credit card's still down there

Oh yeah, all right
I feel like a 100 million dollars tonight
I knew you were the one
But I kept you waiting
Kept you waiting
Anticipating now I'm waiting for you

Watching...

Alien 3 - Sigourney Weaver

"Why? Why the innocent, punished? Why the sacrifice? Why the pain? There aren't any promises. Nothing certain. Only that some get called, others saved... We commit these bodies to the void with a glad heart. For within each seed, there is a promise of a flower, and within each death, no matter how small, there is always a new life. A new beginning."
- Dillon's internment speach, as Sigourney's hapless expendable crew-members are cremated in some massive furnace the supposedly dismantled ore refinery facility just happens to have running at full tilt the entire movie. I include the quote not for any deep-seated profundity, but only for the film maker's obvious but still amusing irony... if you've seen Alien 3, you know what I am talking about.

starbright

you have the eyes of starlight beams
that slice through a frosty night
and cut tiny paths through my wondering heart
they are quicksilver pin pricks in my tomb
soft whispers of hope in another time
they weave velvet ladders down to where I lie
taunting me of the desire
to climb
where I can fall into your feather bed
to dance
in the burning brightness of your beacons
to carve
with the heat of your light
the very likeness of your face into my soul

.

Listening to...

They Might Be Giants - Instanbul (Not Constantinople)
Dial a Song

Every gal in Constantinople
Lives in Istanbul, not Constantinople
So if you've a date in Constantinople
She'll be waiting in Istanbul

Even old New York was once New Amsterdam
Why they changed it I can't say
People just liked it better that way

So take me back to Constantinople
No, you can't go back to Constantinople
Been a long time gone, Constantinople
Why did Constantinople get the works?
That's nobody's business but the Turks

Questioner

How do you do it? How do you love the unloveable? How do you draw a straight face and woo the twisted creature? How do you weep flaming tears of desire over this one? Isn't this the same who took your embrace of salvation as an opportunity to plunge the poisoned tongue into your side? How did you weave those mortal wounds of hate and selfish longing into the irresistably rainbowed rope of healing and life? Please, don't you see my blotchy morality, my chinked armour, my dark and cloudy eyes? Are you blind to the screaming purpled scars of my face? Why did you hoist me high to look on your eyes, knowing I would only use you as a platform for failure? How do you caress the one who would molest your mercy, spit upon your loving kindness and taunt their truest friend and best lover? Why did you give me your silken string to swing amongst the stars, knowing I would use it to spurn your cup of salvation, to run towards the luscious embrace of death?

You, descendent of a prostitute, an adulterur, killer and a thief, stretched yourself across the stagnation of my life. I stumbled across your golden gate, met with the blinding beauty of your presence, shattered through the prisms of my own imperfections. Before the wondrous Saviour, Son of glory and grace unmeasurable, mighty fortess and coming King, I bind and burn my questions. The fullness of You is more than enough for me.

I revealed myself to those who did not ask for me;
I was found by those who did not seek me.
To a nation that did not call on my name,
I said "here am I, here am I". - Is. 65:1-2

if you have a soul

Once a liar, twice a liar. Apparently Tigard is about to stick it to North Medford in the State football championship. There is so much football today it isn't even funny.

Doubly Apologetic,

Michael

OK, I lied. Army/Navy is NOT the only game on today. So is the OSU/USC game. As the current 42-21 USC score can testify, this is an amazingly gripping game that I should not have omitted in the piece below.

Apologies,

Michael

Of Leaf Raking and Liberal Lies

My luxuriously lazy afternoon is being brought to a sad and untimely end, as all lazy afternoons are wont to do. The time that has long been dreaded and feared is finally upon us: leaf raking. Now, the second I say that you automatically jump to the conclusion that I am an ungrateful wretch who should gladly don boot, rake and cap to join in the annual American fall tradition of leaf collecting. But your picture of this chore is sadly skewed by the liberal lies of American media. Right now, prancing through your head, is a picture of a chubby little 11 year old child. He has on a plaid wool shirt and one of those grey hunting caps with the flaps that cover the ears. He has a porcelain face, barring the ruddy cheeks. The sun is low in the sky, but shining brightly, it's honeyed rays sifting and dodging amongst the dust in the air. The chubby little one is delightedly frolicking in a giant mountain of fresh fallen leaves, crisp and colorful as a bonfire on the beach. The child's thrilled giggles echo around the neighborhood, as his parents happily cuddle on the porch swing sipping capuccinos freshly brewed in their Starbucks Barista(R) Espresso machine and watching their cherub in his innocency and joy.

Please. Let's not kid ourselves....

This is hardly reality. As you read this, I will undoubtedly be in our back yard as the 17th inch of rain of the last 24 hours begins to fall. I will be dressed, not in Pendleton's yuppified glory, but a hodgepodge of rain slickers and Georgetown University sweatshirt. The sun, far from being a happy participant in this necessary horticultural exercise, has not showed it's face within a 250 mile radius for the past three weeks. These leaves are not color palates to take your breath away, contrarily, each and every one which you can distinguish from the mud they are thoroughly bedded down in is what can best be described as a puke yellow and gangrene brown. The soggy nature of these leaves (remember the 17 inches of rain) will mean only one thing: after 3 hours of misery filled labor, we'll be about 1/8 done. The only relief from the horror of our task is the Army/Navy game which is blaring from the portable radio. Though "relief" is a bit of a stretch. Why do the Army and Navy even have football teams? This is the only time in the year Americans care that Army or Navy is playing. And the only reason that they care is because it is the only football game on, and they are probably using it as an excuse not to rake leaves. But not me... sigh.

I go to blow the dust off my shackles, lock them in place and swallow the key.

Truly Yours,

Michael

would be nice...

Listening to...

Tonic - If You Could Only See
Lemon Drop

If you could only see the way she loves me
Then maybe you would understand
Why I feel this way about our love
And what I must do

Listening to...

Ray Charles and Betty Carter- Baby It's Cold Outside

I really can't stay - Baby, it's cold outside
I've got to go away - Baby, it's cold out there
This evening has been - Been hoping that you'd drop in
So very nice - I'll hold your hands, they're just like ice

Giants

Where have the giants gone, the men of the sword and rock and shield? They stood like proud pennants on the battle field, unshakeable standards in a trembling world. But they lie beaten by a crushed enemy, their giants' breath crucified even in a confident cry of victory. There was a time when I would crawl to bath and heal my blemishes in their shadows. I would kneel beside their footprints and fill the craters with my scalding tears of longing and desire. In those steamy pools lived a silhouetted specter, distorted and twisted in dissatisfaction, but possessor of the hawk's hungry eyes. And the giants made the hungry only hungrier, and I would follow their rippling standards on hallowed ground to untenable heights, where we would laugh of hope and victory, purchased past and fulfillment to come.

But the giants are gone.

There are no giants. We rally to midget men-at-arms, the tall is short and the short is shorter. We stand at the crossroads of a thousand paths, each with it's own salesman: blue pin-stripes and button down collar stained red by a bloody tie, smile as bright as night, voice like a nauseously buzzing fly. We file on in complacent desire, going where the road may go, captives to the silk shackles of compliance. Conformity is our battle cry, capitulation in the name of consonant orthodoxy.

Here's to the Giant of Giants, his flag to be unfurled, harbinger of eternal victory and hope.

Michael

would be nice...