Several observations:

You can call it anything you want, give it any name, and it's clear just what you are talking about.

If I were any more lucid I'd have the runs.

My brain is at war with the hour. It is active, wanting more of the day, while the control agent checks itself against the time and demands that I shut down. Damn the regulator.

Sleep can seduce me as well as any coquette can.

"In Vietnam the tipping point came when reporters at White House briefings, students at universities and the American people in general suddenly found the confidence to ask the hard questions. Under intense daily scrutiny, the official, rosy version of the war suddenly dissolved, revealing an ethical and strategic quagmire. We may be reaching a similar kind of tipping point on Iraq, perhaps later this year." (Culture Jammers Network)

John Lennon and Yoko Ono protested the Vietnam War by having a Bed-in during May 1969. They wrote Give Peace A Chance, which was released on July 4, 1969. During the same year John and Yoko put up the billboard message "The War Is Over (If You Want It!)" around New York City. Two years later for Christmas 1971 he released Happy X-mas (War Is Over).

Perhaps war doesn't end, just by willing it to end or by proclamation in a song. But consciousness is lifted by acknowledging not denying. Let's acknowledge for this July 4, 2005 that this war in Iraq is wrong. Next to all the ribbons we have on the back of our cars that say: Support Our Troops, let's add: Bring Them Home Now

The old man's naked buttocks was drooping and wrinkled, appearing like folds of a Shar Pei. I've had a growing old prayer that I say to God: "Don't let me become a pissing on myself old man." But I think I'm adding, "and don't let my tushy look like the body of a shar pei.

Today is Memorial Day in the USA, the day we honor the men and women who have fought for our country. Perhaps, that is why we have made war against Iraq, so we can honor the heroes who die fighting, so we can barbeque hamburgers and hotdogs in parks and backyards across the country today.

Can the truth be carefully worded
So it doesn't hurt anyone,
Least of all myself,
And so it doesn't cost anything?

I don't trust my impulses,
which is why I cook them;
I don't serve them up
Raw.

Mind poisoning
Like food poisoning
Can make you deathly ill.

Two Truths

Truth #1

There are no pictures on my wall
Grey as the November sky
A blank mind given over to childish thoughts
There's mischief in this box of crayons.

Truth #2

Rugged men labor in the factories
To build a new life
But the barons of industry
Help themselves to their entrails.

I told my friend Clive that when I came home Saturday evening around 8:15, sitting in front of my apartment building's door was an opposum. I asked him, if he knew whether this event might have any symbolic meaning that he was aware of? "I know about a black cat crossing my path, but a 'possum?" I wondered.

Clive replied, "Wildlife has been appearing on doorsteps all over America."

Clive has always been wise.

I recently read some scientist's claim that Love is a mental illness. Although I'm not inclined to go that far, I do believe it is an aberration and a wonderful distraction. Most of my married friends admit they are no longer in love with their wives, but I don't think they would admit it to their wives. The type of love we see in Hollywood movies, where during that special moment the two of them realize how much they love each other is a fiction. The movie ends as they come together, and this is a bliss that lasts forever, only because the celluloid is eternally held together by that moment. The people never change, never grow older, never deal with illnesses and frustrations and unfulfilled dreams, and they never have children who cause them to lay awake at night wondering whether it's all worth it, the aggravation and the bills. They don't have divergent interests that push them further and further apart. Nothing of reality infringes on their life and nothing of reality is their life.

Love is so valuable, I shall not squandor it on someone who takes my kindness as a weakness, and who thinks that my heart does not break when it is purposely hurt. I must defer to Alice Walker who says, "Never offer your heart to someone who eats hearts." This is the lesson I learned very well, and that the path to heaven is sometimes paved through hell.

The true measure of a man is not based on the wealth he has accumulated, but on the wealth he has distributed.

Gary and Gandhi in London 

The final stage of growing up is when we become the caretakers of our ailing parents, and sadly when we lay them to rest.

Man, have I been sick. Not as sick as the time I had the flu and in a feverish moment of dementia looked up at my wife, who is black and now my ex-wife, and called her "Mom." It was a moment of helplessness and innocence, which any other woman might have found endearing, but this woman snarled at.

There is something special about illness, not serious life-threatening illness, but the kind that does require caretaking and nurturing that one almost longs for, both the illness and the nurturing.

For the past four days, I've been pretty darn sick with eyes, ears, throat, and chest infection, taking antibiotics, and antibacterial eyedrops, drinking lots of tea, and maximizing my bedtime. I even took two days off work. And although I wouldn't allow anyone to caretake me, because I was contagious, I had plenty of attention from family and friends calling regularly to check up on me.

Thanks everyone. I'm feeling better. Now leave me the Hell alone!

The most serious problem adults face besides bills and having to take care of someone besides themselves is losing the child inside.

The games we used to play, such as skimming stones across a pond, jumping in a puddle and splashing around, avoiding sidewalk cracks, popping bubblegum, using a straw to blow milk bubbles, yelling "Hello" in a tunnel to hear it echo, rolling down a grassy hill, and more are all essential ingredients if we are to retain our connection to ourselves, and to the simple pleasures we garner from daily life. We must be willing to be silly and laugh aloud regardless of our age.

These are warnings my mother presented to me as I was growing up:

• If you hold your face like that long enough, it will freeze that way.
  
• You are going to drive me to an early grave.
  
• I hope your children do to you, what you've done to me.
  
• As far as you all are concerned, I'm nothing more than a maid around here.
  
• If you go out without a hat, you will catch a cold.
  

Passion is finding its rebirth as our government continues its War
On Terrorism in Iraq and becomes, itself, a terrorist government.
How many body bags will it take before we become concerned
that reports of our victories are recorded in pints of blood.

Strange things keep happening to me and I'm beginning to question my mental health. The letter "b" in books, magazines, newspapers, and on the web keeps expanding and contracting like the distended belly of a Biafran child, or a pregnant woman in a pre-natal clinic. I rub my eyes to see whether there's something in it like an eyelash resting like an aligator along the shore of my lower lid. Still the exaggerated "b" mocks me. My first wife's name began with this haunting letter, a ghostly remnant of a failed marriage. We might have had a child, but she chose to become a beauty pageant participant instead. Perhaps, I'll up my dose of Xanax, which reads the same backwards and forwards, and makes me feel safe any way I read it.

I've just returned from where I've been. I enjoy coming back home. Did Thomas Wolfe ever have a sanctuary that he lost and then regained?

I'm screaming to the world tonight.

But I'm whispering to you.

My Desktop 6-28-04

I do spend a lot of time here. My comfort zone lives in the depths of this desktop!