Renew Year

Digit Four

pimple faced

emotionally unbalanced

millennium two

is a teenager

JB 12/31/2012

The new year rolls out before me, shrouded in mist and mystery.  Four digits, one changed.  Two-thousand and twelve is nearly spent, but the dying wroth of a bitter year still burns brightly in ash - enough to make me wonder whether a single new digit will change my fortune.

I’m surprised to find that I’m too bitter to look forward with pure hope and joy.  A new year dawns and for the first time I feel somewhat like the girl with diamond jewelry who freezes to death, never noting the irony of coal transformed and draped around her body in cold, hard glitterings.

I’m not happy with what the last year brought, but it’s hardly a satisfying experience to seethe.  I’m tired of having reasons to be angry, but I’m also tired of my own response.

It’s not the year that needs renewed, it’s me.  Now is probably as good a time as any.  I should probably work on this.

A Dream, Awakened

a jumble of thoughts

life is a mixed up puzzle

a dream awakened

-JB 11/14/2012

I feel like my mind is flexible today, as if I never really woke up.  Interpret this dream for me.

I had a dream where my wife and I bought our first house in a town that visually was unfamiliar to me now that I think back on it.  We were neighbors to a very large red house with white trim.  This was notable at the time.  My wife bought the house before I had seen it and there was excitement as she drove me home for the first time.  There was some sort of group meeting at our home, almost like we were a band out in the wilderness making camp, and I had to make sure that I woke up on time for work... but it was more than just going to work, it was something more significant and meaningful to the group.  I went upstairs as I explored the house.  I noticed that the previous owner had left the house furnished with dressers and beds and the closets were filled with clothes.  One room on the left had an old computer that played retro games, which excited me to play again.  That room had other old electronics that excited me to see again. There were more rooms in the house than it initially seemed, and at the end of the hall was second staircase down to the first floor kitchen that I had missed when I first came in the house.  Another staircase was next to that.  It was narrow and twisted a bit, but I could see that it went from the second floor all the way to the basement which I had not yet been to.  From the top of that staircase I could see that a light was on in the basement and the floor was red like the floor in our real home.  My wife was sometimes my brother and sometimes my wife again and all of the things left in the house, once belonging to someone I realized was now dead, were new to me and I was excited to find out what was valuable, but also just excited to have new things.

Yoga and Discord In The Choir

Renaissance

I journeyed east in the morning.

My eyes strained, battling against the sunrise.

Tears welled and I blinked them away

as the world was lit on fire.

That shining and stunning morn

That majestic and breathtaking dawn

A spark of awareness within me rose with ever increasing force

until my entire being was joyously consumed.

Crying out, I raised my voice in discord to the choir of dust

and turned west in harmony and alignment with all that mattered.

The sun, the earth, and the direction of the future

I have become a rider upon the primal pulse.

-JB 06/25/2012

I often find myself walking down the same mental roads.  I don’t think it is a habit so much as a lack of ability to discern alternate possibilities.  I’ve been told that my sense of humor suggests at a creative mind and maybe that is true on one level or another, but in terms of the habitual problem solving that we all undertake as part of daily life… I’m far more boring and analytical than that.  There are just so many things that I would never consider until they are brought to my attention and, usually, such answers stun me in their simplicity.  I think it is this reason, my penchant for thinking too linearly, that abstract concepts seem to hold so much meaning.

I was doing yoga last night, and the meditative portion caught me off-guard despite that I had heard it before.  In Jamal’s world, one relaxes the mind and the body… though this is easier said than done.  Telling me to relax my mouth, my throat, or my fingers is likely to blow my little mind.  Who thinks of their fingers as tensed?  I don’t, and yet imagining my fingers releasing pressure that I don’t feel somehow serves to inspire the creative thought I associate with the relaxing of the mind.

Left to my own devises, I would likely try to focus intently on not focusing, in the hopes that somehow it works and my mind relaxes in the same way that focusing radiation (poison) at cancer somehow manages to permanently kill the cancer (for a slim few) before it kills the person with cancer.  It’s like I am plugged into myself and can’t stop the electrical flow as it inexorably cycles round and round in a perpetual loop.  It isn’t until a concept comes along that is completely unlike anything I could ever independently conjure, and it serves to capture my attention long enough for the flow to ebb and release me.

The meditation from this yoga video is nothing special.  It isn’t long.  It isn’t grand.  It probably isn’t even very unique.  I don’t think it is profound; so much as the specific angle it assumes as it departs from a more traditional train of thought is somehow well-aligned for me.  Like a switch in the track, it changes my direction and, once released, my brain can wander for a brief time in the vastness of possibility.

“Feel the pulse of the earth,” it said. “Be that pulse.  Be the earth.”
 
I don’t know or even care if there isn’t a single other person alive who feels moved by those words, but they take my level of thinking and sink it deeper.  I long for that depth of thought.  I need that depth of thought. 

“I would rather be ashes than dust! 

I would rather that my spark should burn out 

    in a brilliant blaze than it should be stifled by dry-rot. 

I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom 

    of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet. 

The function of man is to live, not to exist. 

I shall not waste my days trying to prolong them. 

I shall use my time.”
-Jack London

I’ve written before that there are some people who are electric. They serve much the same purpose as meditation in that they sink my thinking deeper. I suspect that I do a decent job of recognizing such people, but I do a downright poor job of connecting with them, of emulating them, and of taking advantage of the fortune of knowing them.

I once knew a man and whenever I spoke with him there was a sense of magnetism, like the feel of the air as it gets chased across the country by a storm. I think of him often, and how his mother described him as a renaissance man when he died. I don’t yet think of myself as old, but I’ve lived longer than many who deserved it more. Sometimes I wonder if it is not those who do the least that survive, if we are not the embers, slowly cooling long after the fire passed.

Some may feel that’s a sobering concept full of morose tendencies. I don’t. I think it’s empowering. The fact is, if you get your thinking down deep enough, every ember longs to be renewed in flames.

We could all use a renaissance in our lives.

Wound Up Like The Wind

outbound
for places old and new

wound up like the wind

restless and insatiable

the mind is moving ever on

returned
yet not the same

recomposed every instant
each one a revelation

JB - 04/13/2012

I often find my mind drawn to the wind. Maybe that's because they share three letters, while the fourth is just flipped on it's head.  More likely, it's because wind strikes me as an almost mystical entity.

As a child I wondered where wind came from, and I'll admit that I still struggle to get a good mind-wrap on the subject.  For some reason, absent the childhood depictions of a face in the sky blowing air around, it just doesn't make sense to me where wind finds its impetus.

There's something fascinating about being able to take a substance like air... so near unreal that we use it as the basis for weightlessness and how soft a thing can be... yet a simple flip of perspective (it moves) turns it into something completely different.

We all think we have the world figured out, at least well enough to manage with the necessary things of life - but how dramatic a change can be brought about by a shift in status.  Sometimes we forget that all is relative.  The same glass of water is cold or hot depending on our body temperature... the sun is rising or setting depending on where we are... happiness and joy, sadness and despair come and go... even people themselves are alive or dead, given enough time.

Everything in this transitory world is inconstant, yet we must place faith upon it as it is the entire basis for our physical existence.

My over-active nerd-brain finds that a strange contradiction.

An Offering

I'd like to say I'll revisit this thought and revise it to something more workable... more meaningful... but I know better.  Better to share it now, while I still feel it merits doing so.

Golden
met a girl with a button nose
wondered what it held in place
waited till she didn't look
and opened up her face


inside i found a world unknown
to me and also her
wonder when she'll figure out
she's made of frankincense and myrrh
JB - 02/23/12

A Moving Moving On

What is the value of a tear when it falls, and how long do you let it rest easy on the cheek before wiping it away?

Cheeky Distraction

i never learned to cry on cue

i never got the pretense

i rarely find occasion to

emotion's disappearance

- JB 01/09/2012

A myriad of thoughts win out over the budding of emotions. I am too oft-distracted by inner dialogue to conjure the requisite emotional certainty for tears. I do not blame the analysis, for it aids me in coping. I do not miss the outward expression, though I suspect others do. Still, I am human and find occasion from time to time.

I tend to think we are more than the sum of our experiences – that we are affected by events which occur, but still must need make choices through the exercise of free-will which inevitably determine the nature of our relationships with things. Both nature and nurture fall into the equation but (as with most things) this simple dichotomy is not an accurate approach to understanding, for we do not exist in the vacuum of self but are made up of a diverse subset of “self(s)” which interrelate with such others as make up our friends, family, and acquaintances. These others in our lives affect how we relate to things, and shared experiences are group-interpreted through a simultaneous interplay of subtle emotional and physical cues, combined with deeply seeded unspoken thought and spiritual searching.

What does that mean? I don’t really know. I’ve had trouble organizing my thoughts lately… thus the non-posting since November. Based on my failed attempts to edit this into an intelligible read, this post appears no different.

Emotionally speaking, I feel that life is more non-dynamic than ever. At the same time I cognitively recognize that the reality of things has not changed so much as my guessing at the future has been proven wrong.

I do not believe that this physical world we inhabit is the end of things. Instead, it is an inglorious start to the process of growth we must all partake. Life is not a contest to live the longest, nor is continued life the point of existence in this world. I believe that mankind is meant to endure this world through the growth of spiritual qualities which provide a clearer understanding of things… and that this new understanding is what guides how we define our relationships with the changes and chances that we encounter.

This world is full of beauty which I have at times been blessed to see, but that joy is inconsistent... for life is also a burden. Everyone suffers, including the prophets of God, for suffering spurs the type of spiritual and emotional searching that precedes growth.

I do not really mourn the station of the one who passed on, because prolonged life is not the goal, but I mourn the loss of my expectations and the hope I had for a stronger and more developed relationship. I am pained by the sadness I see in others, and the half-made plans we must once again store in the attic. I am frustrated by the process of growth, but that is inevitably the point. Recognition of the purpose of tests eases the burning in my heart, but does not alleviate it.

As I return to work and other things considered the normal activities of my life, I carry the experience with me... knowing that pain will fade with time.

Not all tears are wiped away before they dry.

Lightning Strikes!

The Air, Alive

like an unseen presence

sensed long before it's seen or heard

from quiet it comes

the straining sound of silent static

energy is mounting

soon comes the lightning

-JB 11/10/11

In his playing days, my father was known as White Lightning.  To look at him now, this moniker may sound strange, because it isn't like he looks like and albino. In fact, as a non-tanning freckler, he almost gives the appearance of having rather normal skin tone when he's got a shirt on. Take that shirt off, however, and the sheen reflecting off his torso may blind you. You see, that part of his body does not often see the light of day - and from daylight come the freckles. With his shirt off, he's an almost shickingly pale-white honkey, albeit with somewhat darker arms and neck.

Well, you get the idea.

Anywho... often coached as I was by his former players, and a non-tanning freckler in my own right, I was sometimes called White Lightning Jr.  This reference fell into disuse over time, as many nicknames are wont to do, until I revived it many years later with an ill-advised self-depricating email sent to a few co-workers containing a photo of then seventeen-year-old Jamal in his high-school soccer uniform.

Soon I was known to the office (and other offices from Appleton to Chicago) as the man, the myth, the legend - White Lightning!  A red-haired, short-shorted moron who sends goofy photos of himself to co-workers.

Well, friends, something interesting happened on a day when my wife and I held a devotional in the forest, and took communion with the wind in the trees - the spark of life took form... and it's been growing ever since.  Will that spark turn into White Lightning the 3rd, or will it be a baby girl sidekick to join her mother at my side?

Only time will tell.

Longing To Be A Leaf And Playing Clue With Life

Who killed Mr. Time?  Life, in the study, with distraction.

I haven't posted for awhile now, and I blame life.  Everytime I feel the desire to sit, think, and jot down words... something comes up.  I've also been spending more time writing Mr. Sir Awesome Masterpiece, Himself.

Now that I have more of an outline, my co-conspirator (we'll call him Alex Zander) has finally jumped on board and we've been taking turns writing, imagining, and sending the Word doc back and forth via email.  It's fun and more is getting done than when I work alone, though there is a lot more time spent having to take things from my brain and inject them into his... somehow... and small diferences in vision are less than exciting to resolve in 10 word snippets over email.  I'm also finding that my excessive use of "..." does not work as well in a novel as it does in a blog.

-~<>~-

My father posted a haiku on Facebook recently, as a tribute to his sunny fall day in South Carolina.  It inspired me to write my own haiku, as a tribute to the blustery fall day we had in Wisconsin.

Sunny Day

sunlit blooms cry out

take my beauty home with you

i seek love not frost

- AB 10/18/11

Blustery Day

wind blows leaf from tree

which falling down says goodbye

fitting end, old age

- JB 10/18/11

I someday hope to be as a leaf - to fall back to the earth and return to dust, having lived life whole and healthy, showing my true colors.

Everything (Always) Is Full Of Life

Look At That, He Said Pointing

i passed an epiphany on the floor one day

missed the point and left it lay

growing none the wiser

JB - 09/01/11

We’re all still trying to get to that concert; the one where our favorite band sings a song of freedom to the heart; when our friends gather together, growing bold and new from the experience; when everything is different after, seen from the perspective of one who stood on the threshold of ecstasy and looked down over the sea of life, understanding it all.

Always it rides on the edge of our vision.  Every moment and none are that concert.  We live unaware of the splendor that surrounds, never having consciously acknowledged the import of it all. 

In the end, only the end matters.  If we could lift our heads to gaze out on the horizon, all would come into focus.  Yet, even knowing this, we are distracted by that which blazes past as the world spins madly on.

Life, as always, couches its answers in a new mystery to solve.  It is not the passing epiphany which carries import, but the implementation of that which one knows they must change.

A Revolution: Not To Change, But To Return

I attended the Green Lake Baha’i Conference this weekend.  I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and was even introduced to the work of Anis Mojgani – a slam poet who produces amazing, expressive, thought-provoking work.  Potential poetry, his is not.  More to the point of the story, however, one of the breakout groups they had was about telling your story.  The description mentioned blogs, so I wandered in.  Wandering out, I took away the view that expressing ourselves is one way of encouraging understanding.  There was more to it, but those are the words I have settled on for the moment.

We spent maybe 3 minutes writing about our spiritual journey, starting sentences with “I remember.”  From there, we then just started writing what came to mind for another 10 minutes.  Afterwards, I spent some time putting the resulting words into a semblance of order and this is what resulted.

As I post this, I am no longer in the same place emotionally.

~~~

I find myself thoughtful without direction.  My over-active nerd-brain runs wild, stampeding violently past as I try to lasso a stray thought.  The ones I capture are but mere shadows of the stallions I see blazing past.  I circle back.  I circle back.  I circle back, but I never see them again.

Recalling the Genesis of Ourself

i remember a little girl

i remember a hill

i remember a drink dispenser

a conference at camp tecumseh

i remember mysterious paths

cars in the woods

hidden schools just over the hill

rocky inclines where water used to be

i remember friends and community

gathered at happy hollow park

i remember the speech they had us practice

and the games based on virtues

i remember memorizing a prayer

on the way to somewhere i’ve forgotten

and the feeling of pride in the accomplishment

i remember our father snapping his fingers

when we talked during prayers

and the sternness of disappointed stares

i remember wrestling and jumping on the bed

sent to play after devotionals

i remember a number of things

enough to reflect

too little to recreate

-JB 08/27/11

I know that I come back to the same thoughts, the same emotions.  I’m a record skipping willfully - an out-dated version of myself trying to hold onto cherished relics from a past era.  One such is recycled regret over, more than the loss of innocence, the forfeiture of myself (even if just a little) to a world that continually moves on, allowing no return to pick up the pieces of poor choices.

If I could find that truer self who I took out in the woods and told to stay, I’d let him know that I don’t think remembering him is a waste of time, and I try to remember as often as possible.

In the absence of Marty McFly… remembering will have to do.

Please, Sir, I Want Some More

Shelly and I stayed home for the first full weekend in what feels like the entire summer.  We baked fresh foods with ingredients from our garden, walked to a coffee shop and grocery store, cleaned, weeded, cut my hair, and generally relaxed.

Home, Again, At Last

cicadas singing, fan turns round

peaceful nights and summer sounds

it's finders keepers - life is found

-JB 08/21/11

Life is made up of minutes, days, and years; but is lived only in such moments as are stolen and sufficiently and joyously squandered in the simplicity of togetherness with loved ones.

From Sixteen To Marriage

Paranoid Loneliness

cloaked in shrouds of brash words

and the false bravado of youth

eyes unsmiling tell the story

of almost men and near women

searching frantic for someone

who reminds them

of what Jackie Wilson said

- JB 08/15/11

Per normal, I have little meaningful to say - though even less this time.

I was just remembering today what it was like to be single.  Fortunately, I married young or I certainly would have gone crazy.  Everyone I met was first considered as a potential mate and second as a person.  I was an almost man on a mission, for certain, though in many ways it was a waste of time.

I was rarely interested enough to try a relationship and even then didn't commit to it.  Man is nothing if not often self-defeating and I fit the bill more often than most.  Eventually I came to a point where I decided that it was going to happen or not, and I gave up trying.  Within months Shelly and I were dating.

You've Eight Years? More Like Eaten Them.

When I got married, my mother said that we would grow together or grow apart. Eight years later, and that statement still makes me stop and think.

Voyeur Moon

my wife’s music plays loud

driving south as the moon shines down

she belts out the tunes

on the way to a good friend’s wedding

i listen as she tells me how good each song is

and which ones used to remind her of me

over the years i’ve learned the words

and offering my voice brings peace

-JB 08/12/11

Love is like the wind; a stirring up of emotions.  Love is like the wind; it can be there and gone in moments.  Love is like the wind; it helps by pushing you onward.  Love is like the wind; it will break your umbrella if you aren’t careful.  Love is like the wind; refreshing.  Love is like the wind; you’ll fall on your face if you lean into it when it doesn’t blow back.

There is no recipe for love, nor is there a snake oil cure for being unlucky in it.  It’s human nature to want to share experiences when one feels they are relevant.  This isn’t a self-help book and I’m not opening an ashram, but life teaches as one goes and I find myself valuing two lessons more than others. 

1. Speak from love, and hear love.  Assume the best of the others’ intentions.  When an argument arises, it’s more likely miscommunication than ill-intent.  Have the maturity to let go of frustration and remember that the other person is trying to understand your crazy self just as much as you are them.  Rarely is somebody not trying, so don’t let that be your reflexive response.
2. Be willing to lose yourself to the marriage.  Open up and find the new you.  Your mannerisms are not solid gold to everyone and may not even be solid gold to you, if you only knew better.  More likely, you stumbled onto your habits through happenstance and repetition.  That’s hardly a good reason to cling to anything, and may be just the reason to run away therefrom.

Mid-Mountain Meditations / Math and God

We've all got our paths to walk, but as I look up from somewhere part-way up the infinite mountain, I find myself both exhilarated by the journey and stunned by the impossible-to-mind-wrap magnitude of it all.

Un Enlightened

my mind careens wild

down roads known

yet never explored

a path worn well

to a destination

never reached

light floats in the distance

ghostly, ethereal

never to be attained

-JB 08/08/11

The thing about the infinite mountain is that, no matter how much further I go up, I never quite get to even a percent climbed.  I can look back down the mountain and track the path from whence I came.  Even so, I haven't even begun to climb, statistically speaking.

From where I stand, (part-way up and guessing at it all), that is what the Prophets of God mean when they discuss Him as "unknowable."  My philosophy teacher liked to claim that as contradictory, for even to know God as "unknowable" is to know God.  Statistically, though, it is less than irrelevant.  I know of God, I do not know Him.  To me, that is a significant difference.

Some also ask:  

Why climb if you can't get to the top? 

I can't answer for you, but for me it is simple.  I can always move up relative to where I was/am, and that is quite rewarding... when I am able to mind-wrap the significance.

Measuring The Apple's Distance From The Tree

I'd rather make sense than cents, though I don't know that I often succeed at either.  Too often, my search for the words to express the sentiment that I feel deep within my spirit comes up empty.  It's just one of the many things I am bad at.  I try my best to be unpredictable too, but it seems that the only surprise I've managed to pull off so far is when I realized that I wasn't.  Still, I can't but ride on through the night, laptop desperado that I am.  Besides, writing gives me the Pinnochio effect.  (I feel like a real boy)

Organic Apples

songs ring out in my head

wrapt in memory

everything means more when you’re young

and your parents believe

time has passed me by

until even the man in the mirror

doesn’t know my name

but it’s still teaser putting me to sleep

and firecats run wild in my dreams

where i’d rather clean windows

than be a rich man

on comes the call

social justice

sounding in the distance

behind walls

i hear the screaming

left then right, left then right

a solider marching

all the time i’m left

until i make it right

no, my father’s ghosts don’t haunt me

and my mother’s sorrows don’t get me down

but i’ve both their hearts within me

and my own small thorny crown

- JB 08/04/11

Airplane Etiquette “aka Roller’s Special Request”

Pa’s Faux Pas
keep it together
now is not the time or place
farting on a plane
- JB 08/01/11

Look, I know the food on airplanes is bad, but who do you think you’re kidding?  That stench is not your mystery meat and vegetable medley.  You do realize that there are bathrooms, right, but no windows that I can crack?  This is like riding in the car with my uncle Dave, only it isn’t the window-lock button that has been pressed, and no amount of begging is going to convince the captain to make a pit-stop.  There should be a “no-smoking” equivalent on planes where one has to make a pledge not to eat beans and/or ethnic food for three days before a flight.

“Yes, I’d like a no-ass-dropping seat please.  Thanks!”

Airplanes are like mullets.  Everything is good and professional in the front, but the further back you go, the dirtier and poorer it looks.  Me?  I’ll take the party in the back, even if it means sitting next to a known ass-dropper or two.  People back there are real and have personalities.

This "Green" Post Was Made of Recycled Thoughts

'And', And Nothing More

like getting to the top of a mountain

and expecting a revelation

only to find yourself out of breath

dazzled by the sights

but awaiting an emotion that never comes

like seeing a pretty painting

but wanting a movie

even your daydreaming

suffers from insomnia

in the shadow

of expecting 'and'

when the sentence ends

-JB 07/29/11

As a reader of this continually unfolding manuscript of greatness, I hereby notify you that class is in session.

I've been told that depression runs in my family, and, truth be told, I've seen some evidence to support the assertion.  I must admit, though, I don't really "get" depression, at least not in the way others seem to describe it.  I mean, I understand it cognitively, and I've experienced it intermittently - as have all people.  For me though, it is like a dream.  I'm sad, but I feel disconnected from it until it, eventually, passes.  It doesn't define me and I would distinguish between being depressed, and feeling depressed.

Whatever the source, depression seems generally related to the most basic of philosophical questions - the meaning of life, one's purpose, why am I here.

Let's explore that for a moment.  I exist.

ex·ist - verb

1. to have actual being

2. to have life or animation

3. to continue to be or live

My existence consists of who I am and the actions I take.  Life is not what you make of it. Whoever coined that phrase missed the target.  You are what you make of yourself, life is just what happens - sometimes as a result, sometimes outside of your direct influence. Your inputs and intent matter, the output does not... apart from the effect on your ego.

The point of existence is, therefore, to make one's self. 

"There are many forks in the yellow brick road, but they'll get you to the Emerald City none-the-less." - Munchkin Proverb

Whether you choose the high road or the low road, both will have forks.  We can''t choose when and where we encounter them, but we can choose which direction to go.

Class dismissed.

He Who Shall Be Named, Albeit Generically

"The Man"

villian wrongly named

slander of my own true sex

manly, you are not
- JB 07/25/11

Few have wreaked as much havoc, have engendered such a sense of revulsion, and been so widely looked down on with derision as – The Man.  If truly there is a name written in the stars, they most assuredly read “The Man” - because he either owns them or has enslaved the star people to do his bidding.  Yes, friends, The Man is one dastardly, no-good, has-all-the-connections-so-he-never-loses, straight-up MF’er.

Don’t bother telling him I told you, though, because he won’t believe you.  We’re tight like skinny jeans.

Why is that, you ask?  How could such an upstanding citizen such as myself be so intimately associated with this villain - he who dumps out the last of your milk at night while you lie sleeping, innocently dreaming of a delicious morning bowl of cereal; who steals one of each pair of socks, only to return them to your next load of laundry just after you gave up hope and threw away the other one; who makes your significant other forget to replace the roll of TP when it runs out?

Well, there’s an interesting story behind that, let’s see if I can remember how it goes.  Oh yeah… I remember... it goes something like this:

I’m an even bigger badass!  The end.

Look, I don’t want to take anything away from Darkwing Duck, but if anybody is the headache in the criminal mind –it’s this guy (I’m pointing at myself).  Who is the surprise in your cereal box, the batteries that aren’t included, the wrong number that wakes you at 3 am, the raspberry seed you can’t floss out? Me. I mean, let’s be honest -that cartoon was basically preemptive plagiarism of my life before I lived it.

I know what you’re saying, though: 

"Mr. Black, just looking at you it becomes obvious that you are awesome, but how exactly does this association with The Man prove it?"

First of all, thanks for noticing.  Secondly, I’ll fill you in on a secret – The best way to stick it to The Man is to convince him to pay you to work against his best interests.  That is to say, I’m the chief instigator behind a silent and unannounced mutiny.  Shhh…

Look, all artificial and goofy presentation tactics aside, the best way for most of us to enact meaningful change is to change things from the inside.  Rare is the opportunity to ‘go rogue’ and actually accomplish something.  I know many people who look at the state of the world, and at the institutions that exist, and feel a strong sense of disgust.  I feel that way myself.  The problem, (as I see it), though, is that so many people allow their righteous feelings of frustration to stagnate in a sea of inaction.  It’s hard to figure out how to change systemic problems – because systemic problems are huge, and they don’t derive from a single deficiency.

The way I see it is that action is always best, and any action that isn’t fruitful can be changed when that determination is made.  Beyond that, The Man is either going to have hirelings who make things worse by reinforcing problems… or he can hire me.  

Let’s face it, the systems that are set up, (the ones so many of us feel are used to abuse, misinform, or otherwise oppress), are so effective in doing so because they are utilized by the vast majority of the population… and the people using those systems have the greatest need for change.  By working within the system, you can bring that change directly to them without having to fight for their attention.  From there, it is but a matter of time before they begin to recognize the benefit of the changes (assuming you are right).

I’ll work hard, but I’ll do it with a smile on my face.  I’ll interact with others, but I’ll do it in a way that encourages them towards their own positive action.  I’ll build systems, do tasks, teach others – but always with the goal of creating a more cohesive unit, focused on long-term positive results for humanity as a whole… and, no, not every action or choice that I make will be so clearly imbued with profound implications, but I believe that the truly profound is best hidden in the accumulation of many smaller actions, enacted over a lifetime.

Kissing a Keyboard Softly in the Night Hour

Much has happened in my life since I last posted, though little enough of it was like to amuse such few as might chance upon this blog. Still, at various times, the stray deep thought crossed my mind. In such moments, I made a silent vow to myself that I would post such thoughts at a later date. Sadly, my people never contacted themselves to arrange a time, and unspoken word is not bond.

Yesterday I was intent on posting about life and death, as a 38 year old at my wife's place of employment passed on of a sudden heart attack (while in a boardroom meeting). Before that, I was pondering what one truly owes to family and friends, versus that which makes up generosity and kindness. Still earlier it was just families in general, as the Black family's yearly vacation was underway and/or stumbling to the finish-line full of fire and brimstone, as is our wont. None of those posts were to be, though I will say that my family is full of people generally considered to be fine communicators, however such others as would describe us that way too often neglect the listening side of communication.

Instead, I am left with a few random thoughts and some more potential poetry - mindless nonsense for those with no minds and little sense. Meager fare indeed, though enough to sustain my own interest, at least. Your own interest is for you to measure, though I suspect that I am most respected by my intellectual peers. In terms of the poetry, that means I have to hope that a number of fifth graders enjoy reading of my life now that it is less dynamic.

Night Echoes

pretty bird

come sing in my window awhile

night has come

and you must rest

but i worked all day

while you sang and sang

the moon shines bright

but only echoes remain

if a passing owl

should chance you awake

come sing in my window awhile

-JB 05/27/10

I assume that I am not alone when I feel as though my best intentions of being a productive and vibrant member of society, of choosing the right ways to spend my time, of knowing what will bring me lasting happiness; all these end in disappointment eventually, even if just a little. I think of being young, when simple things were of profound import in my life. Now, complex things take up my time yet leave me feeling cheated – and it matters not that I do the cheating.

If I was a child, I would be chasing fireflies right now and loving life. Instead, I'm chasing myself indoors to artificially cool air where the only flashings of brightness are electronic, and there is but passing joy in their catching. -JB 07/19/11

If it weren’t for my lovely sidekick wife, I would be even worse off. I was thrice lucky with her. We married young and have enjoyed one another's company longer than we might have, she balances out some of my failings (such as my inability to act in ways that would bring about my cherished desires), and she is committed to working together on our marriage and life in a way that (eight years later) still sets the goal of unity higher than self and pride. The final point is probably the luckiest of all.

Slow Morning

a smile rests easy under blue eyes

face creased with happiness

still young, but not like before

a woman’s face has replaced the girl i married

myself not quite a man

slow morning

stay slow

we’ve got nowhere to go

and i want to remember this

-JB 6/29/11

As I think back on the past few posts, I see a pattern. It is mostly Facebook posts revisited, with a little extra nonsense thrown in. Have no fear, however, because I will endeavor to reduce the predictability. My first step? I'm gonna go check myself out at the library. I hate it when people can read me like a book.

Almost Thoughts and The Story of My Life

Most of the time when I try to write something, I get a line or two in and come screeching to a halt - my train of thought having run off the tracks.  I wouldn't say that I have ADD, so much as I try to cover too much track for a single train, (or maybe a defectively slow train), so the train speeds dangerously to try and meet the demand.  When it works, it's great.  Most often, though, there is a wreck.

Typically, the poems are lost to the ages, never having made the transition out of my brain.  Since I have a blog here, I'm going to start posting some of these potential poems.  Hopefully, it inspires me to pick them back up later and fix / add to them.

Then, I'll be famous.

The Heart Hive

and love swarms
comin’ in fuzzy and warm
whenever I see the form
of the one I’m sworn to
-JB 6/28/11

Me / Myself / A Scarecrow

my face on a carton
always watching
your cup of sadness
half-full

i was an optimist
eating life’s spaghetti
without a fork
in the yellow brick road
most traveled

and all around were faces
bound into pages
always chasing, erasing
most of what remained
of an uncatalogued existence
bordering on subsistence
-JB 6/28/11

On a side note, Scarecrows aren't really scary enough (especially not to birds). They just look like people - big whoop! If you really want to do something scary, build a Clowncrow. Clowns scare everybody.

Farmers can thank me with generous portions of the harvest they save.