Wednesday, June 17, 2015


The dog and pony show has begun.


The chickens are coming home to roost
(or roast).

The cows are coming home...

To graze?
To get milked?
To jump over the moon?
To get butchered?

Plus, Hell is freezing over.

Not zombies, but a dirty dozen of Republican presidential candidates HAS CRAWLED OUT OF THE WOODWORK, licking their carnivorous chops.

And they ARE again singing their FAVORITE old-time hymns of hubris called:

   Take Our Country Back...



Let's Go To War.

But it was them...

the untruthful NEOCONS...

Who took AWAY OUR country...

And Iraq's...

And Afghanistan's.

And if the NEOCONS succeed in winning...

I mean buying...

the White House...

Then Iran will be next to get a noose of Shock & Awe twisted around its neck.

It is the Republicans who need to leave our country...

and Be banished!

So that no further terror and damage can be done by them to america and the world.


Friday, June 12, 2015

JUNE 12, 1982

The biggest demonstration on earth (until the global anti-Iraq war march of Feb 15, 2003) took place in New York on June 12, 1982, when one million people gathered in support of the second UN Special Session on Disarmament and to protest nuclear weapons.


New York City.
June 12, 1982:
The Great Peace March.

And Now.
Sitting here. Typing.
 Listening to the Grateful Dead sing Visions of Johanna.

 Thinking about another vision that has been blinded.

 Has gotten covered with blinders of shared complacency.

Helpless renunciation.

Forlorn acceptance that we cannot change things as they are.

I went.
  I saw.
 I concurred…
With one million other souls.
June 12, 1982.
To stop the Nuclear Arms Race.


Peace in
War out!

Redemption Song!

June 12.
This date is forever etched on my memory.
It was June 12, 1982 when I was in New York for the Great Peace March, a giant anti-nuclear weapons rally.
I walked backwards on Fifth Avenue to take pictures of the oncoming “parade”.
I then walked to Central Park and sat among an estimated 1,000,000 persons.
According to New York's Parks and Recreation, it was one of the cleanest days in New York history.
It was also reported that there had not been ONE reported incident of violence!
I had taken a walk the night before. 
At one point (I think it was right after I walked past a man who was sleeping on the sidewalk) I looked up and saw a full moon.
And the figure of a cross was across it.
I thought to myself, "This is a good omen."
The nuclear arms race didn't end
I suppose it will never end.
But we tried on June 12.



In this photo provided by NASA, astronaut Michael Good works with the Hubble Space Telescope in the cargo bay of the earth-orbiting space shuttle Atlantis, Friday, May 15, 2009. Astronauts Good and Mike Massimino, not shown, participated in the second session of STS-125 extravehicular activity, as part of a five-day beehive-like agenda of space walking and work on the giant orbital observatory (AP Photo/NASA)


Our earthly eyes may soon get to see what the beginning of “our” Universe looked like.
But not its very, very beginning.
Only 600,000,000 years before The Beginning.
But what if the Universe (as we think we know it) is much older than the oft’-quoted age of between 13.5 and 14 billion years?
What if (like other misconceptions we’ve held about the earth and sun) OUR universe is a tangential part of a much larger UNIVERSE?)
I know: I’m being heretical and ridiculous.

I suppose that our terrestrial peering into the heavens will help in some areas of our terrestrial existence.
Can this kind of information help us to pay our bills?
Win wars?
Cure cancer?
Stop Global Warming?
Paint pictures or write poetry?
What is it really worth for us to be able to get to and discover the “starting gate” of Space and Time?
What’s the point of all this cosmic seeing?
Will it help us to know ourselves better or to solve our problems?If the universe didn’t exist would it be necessary to create one?
I find this sort of research interesting, but I don’t always see any abundant intrinsic or extrinsic value.
The mountain is there. It will not come to us. So we must go to the mountain.

Maybe on the way we’ll bump into some of our extraterrestrial cousins.
“Hello. Are you old enough to remember the BIG BANG? "
"Of course."
“Good. Larry King wants you to be on his show tomorrow night.”

In the meantime, I look forward to seeing more beautiful pictures between all of those infinite spaces.
But I have a suggestion for NASA:
Please point Hubble’s eye to the center of the Milky Way Galaxy and keep it pointed there until we find out what is going to happen in 2016.


Thursday, June 11, 2015


Crack an egg at its top or bottom?

The Big-Endians of Blefuscu believed it should be the egg's bottom, but the Lilliputians disagreed, and there was a war.


Should a roll of toilet paper be unwound from its top or bottom?

This is a contentious question but not a causus belli.

I have uttered vociferous interjections more often because there is no roll than because the direction of the unrolling is “wrong”.

It's even worse when there's an egg instead of a roll.


Monday, May 25, 2015


You love me only for what's in my head.

And you only love what's on my chest.

Well, I do like your bust a lot, but your brain is nice, too.

So which do you like more, my brain or my bust?

When you're asleep I like your brain more, but when you're awake I like your bust more.

Well, that answers the question about whether I should have my breasts enhanced or not.

Some electrostimulation would be good for your brain.

First things first.
Brawn before brains.

I'm glad that you got that off your chest.


Saturday, May 23, 2015


The danger of the past was that men became slaves. The danger of the future is that man may become robots.”
Erich Fromm

Where we are happened fast, but where we are going SEEMS TO BE happening faster.

We is incorrect.

The following plural nouns should replace the “we”:

Intelligent machines and robots.

Since Roswell entities (and others) didn't assist humans in their technological acceleration, praise and blame should be heaped upon HOMO SAPIENS.

Perhaps we (we is correct this time) humans have bitten off more than we can possibly chew (forgive an awkward metaphor).

It took 66 years for man to get his wings to fly to the moon after the Wright Brothers got theirs:

On December 17, 1903, Orville Wright piloted the first powered airplane 20 feet above a wind-swept beach in North Carolina. The flight lasted 12 seconds and covered 120 feet.

The United States' Apollo 11 was the first manned mission to land on the Moon, on 20 July 1969.

The automobile.
Nuclear energy.
The Computer.
R O B O T S.

But why should I even care?
When robots and extraterrestrials fight it out, I will have passed.
I used passed instead of dead.
But I didn't pass, I failed.
I died.
Or maybe I did pass, since like everyone else who lived, I TOO died.


I may have been kicking a dead horse.

Just as I MIGHT HAVE BEEN DOING concerning robots.

Why worry?

WHEN robots do threaten humans, IT will be great for corporations and the Pentagon who always need the National Security of the United States to be in peril so that they can crank up theIR PERPETUAL WAR AND MONEY MACHINES.


Friday, May 15, 2015


I had already graduated and gotten my B.A. in English.
I taught for one semester in a small Colorado town, but racial tensions in the school (parents were bringing guns to school and other violent acts were occurring) made me quit before the first semester was over.
I took my last pay check and used it to rent a one-room cottage in the mountains.

I read a lot, burned incense, and listened to Cat Stevens.

When my money ran out I worked on the back of a garbage truck.
It was hard work, but it paid well for only six hours of labor, and I usually finished by 1:00 P.M.

After a few months I retired and became a landscaper.

I moved out of my mountain retreat and rented a "garden" apartment in a three-story building that had two other apartments.

Directly above my apartment was a single mom who lived with her son.
She was an actress, and sometimes the ruckus got a little loud above, but most of the time it was pretty quiet.

Sandra and Gwendolyn shared an apartment on the third story.

I forget how I met both of them, but it was probably just some casual encounter.

Sandy was a theater/dance student, and I think Gwen was a psychology major.

Sandy was petite and thin.

Gwen had more meat on her bones.

Neither was beautiful, but neither was ugly either.

I flirted with both, but I called Sandy "my lady".
(Actually, I said "me lady", and made myself sound more English than American.)

I didn't love Sandra in Love's deepest sense, but I was fond of her.

I was wooing her, but to what end I did not know.

There was no physical attraction, infatuation, or lust.

Sandy’s skin color was turning orange from eating so many carrots.
She seemed to always have a carrot in her hand.
I guess she didn’t want to add too many ounces to her tiny torso.
I could have called her Bugs Bunny, but that thought never crossed my mind.

Gwen was more omnivorous and less fastidious about what she ate.
Her body was also more curvaceous.

I had just ended a relationship with a young woman, and so
I was in no hurry to jump back into the saddle.
Gwen and Sandy were my lady friends and not girlfriends.

This was the time when I had my cat Frieda.
Frieda spent a lot of her time ascending the apartment building’s wooden stairs to visit my friends on the third floor.
And so did I.
I always felt that I was being treated like royalty.
Sandy was a superb host.
She made me feel rich in both body and soul.

Sandy, Gwen and I went to Aspen one weekend (when the Aspen trees were spinning their golden leaves).
Sandy drove her blue Volvo.
We rented a motel room.
Gwen and Sandy slept in the only bed, and I slept on the floor.
I joked that I would sleep between them, but didn’t.

We went to hear B.B. King perform that night.
I walked up and stood beside the stage, and was only a few feet away from B.B. King.
But what had me mesmerized (besides King’s masterful guitar playing) was his harmonica player just an elbow away from where I stood.
And there he stood, his body swaying back and forth, his harmonica in his hands, which were also moving back and forth to his face, and the harmonica never quite getting to his mouth.
I wondered to myself, “Can he even play? He looks drunk.”I think he was intoxicated.
His mouth finally made contact with his harmonica.

After the concert, I took Sandy for rides on my back in the park.
And we played hide and seek.

Not much happened after our weekend excursion.
I saw Sandy and Gwen less and less.
Sandy was spending most of her time with a theater director.
I think his name was Michael.

I do remember my last goodbye to Sandy (or rather hers to me).
She simply said, “Take care of your heart.”
I have tried, Sandy, I have tried.Postscript:Two other memories:
Sandy gave me a beautiful print for my birthday which I keep next to my computer here at the high school where I teach.
It is called THE HINDOO MAIDEN. On the back of it is an excerpt from an e.e. cummings poem.
I gave Sandy the original of my poem called 
It was written with purple ink from a fountain pen.
I hope she still has my poem.
I wish I knew where Sandy was today.

Baggy Pockets

The ocean roars like a mad god
Who has slammed a sandy door on man
The waves rush across my mind
And I look upon the
ocean floor:
Diamonds inside buried treasures from chests of
ancient lore.
A golden ring and a crown of a king
Inside a toy jukebox that makes me sing
A silk handkerchief once inside a pirate's pocket
Now beside a modern rocket
With Jesus' cross all rusted and cracked
Does Santa have a new one packed?
Skeletons of drunk Norsemen with their insane swords
Still shining and ready to use in today's cancerous wars
Sipping mead with a few Greek gods from the Peloponnesian war
And at Gawain's side sits young David, shaking on Goliath's shoulders
Looking at Columbus who has just landed for a second time
To come and take America back to the Indian's fort
But like Robin Hood in a TV commercial
Columbus sells his act for a profit
To keep making crazy rockets and keep filling baggy pockets
With silver, platinum, and gold.

 I wrote this poem in the early 70's when I was in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park.


Saturday, May 02, 2015

Homo gizmos

All of our little gadgets are taking over our lives.

We have gadgets for this and gadgets for that---
Apps for this and and apps for that.

We sit, stand and walk around holding gadgets to our faces, our thumbs continuously pressing down buttons a mile and message a minute.

We are becoming the gadgets we use.

We are losing our humanness to things.

Homo sapiens are becoming (or have become) Homo gizmos.

I exclude myself from this madding crowd of gadgeteers.

I keep a simpler...

more civilized (?) life.

I prefer the sweet scent of jasmine flowers.

I have a simple phone with---yes---big numbers.

I do not text or use the Internet on my phone.

I get by just fine without apps.

I am not a gadgeteer.

Is it one-upping and peer pressure that make gadgeteers want to have the same little devices, and more and better ones than all the other gadgetEers?

Intelligent robots of tomorrow will have us right where they need us to be:

Glued to our gadgets!