Saturday, October 28, 2017

The Beauties of Nature

“Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature.

The starry sky, the sea, and every sight afforded by these wonderful regions,
seems still to have the power of elevating his soul from earth.

Such a man has a double existence:
he may suffer misery,
and be overwhelmed by disappointments;
yet, when he has retired into himself,
he will be like a celestial spirit that has a halo around him,
within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.”

~from Mary Shelley's, Frankenstein

Monday, October 16, 2017

In Each Crevice

The sun was written
in each crevice on each leaf
the universe, implied
between the lines

Sunday, October 15, 2017

The Forest, Here, is Alive

 The forest, here, is alive

I find myself in the midst
of a massive murmuration *
surrounded by sacred songs
engulfed by black-winged 
gods and goddesses
awaiting flight

fluttering flailing leaves and feathers
falling down around me

* Murmuration: A flock of starlings

Saturday, October 7, 2017

The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump

"Ask the experts.

In a new book published this week, "The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump," a group of 27 psychiatrists and mental health experts warn that “anyone as mentally unstable as this man should not be entrusted with the life-and-death-powers of the presidency.” Seemingly in defiance of the American Psychiatric Association’s "Goldwater rule," which states “it is unethical for a psychiatrist to offer a professional opinion [on a public figure] unless he or she has conducted an examination and has been granted proper authorization for such a statement,” the various and very eminent contributors paint a picture of a president who has “proven himself unfit for duty.”

Stanford University psychologist Philip Zimbardo — of the famous Stanford prison study — suggests the “unbalanced” Trump is a “specific personality type:
an unbridled, or extreme, present hedonist” and

Psychiatrist Lance Dodes, a former Harvard Medical School professor, says Trump’s
sociopathic characteristics are undeniable
and his speech and behavior show signs of
significant mental derangement.”

Clinical psychologist John Gartner, a 28-year veteran of John Hopkins University Medical School, argues that Trump is a
malignant narcissist” and
evinces the most destructive and dangerous collection of psychiatric symptoms possible for a leader.”

For Gartner, the “catastrophe” of a Trump presidency “might have been avoided if we in the mental health community had told the public the truth, instead of allowing ourselves to be gagged by the Goldwater rule.”"

Friday, October 6, 2017

Sister Sodom

Then, God came to God's Religious Ones and said,

"On the day you were born
your navel cord wasn't cut
you were left covered in slime
you were not tended nor cared for

No eye took even the slightest pity on you
to have compassion for you
for you were
on the day you were born

When I was walking by, I saw you
squirming in your own blood
and I said to you


And I made you grow like weeds
and you grew tall and strong

yet still
you were naked and bare

And so, I covered you
clothing you Myself
in My Love for you

And everyone talked about my
Great Love for you and you were
made famous
because of Me.

but you trusted in your reputation
and played the whore, because of your fame

You made yourself wealthy
as maggots
and powerful
in your Many Things,
using this wealth
to buy more Power
and more and more useless Trinkets
and you were not embarrassed
in the least

No, you just wanted more

As I live,
your Sister Sodom
was not as Sick as you are
in your wealth and power

This is the sin of your Sister Sodom
She and her family
were arrogant, wealthy, lazy-as-shit
but she did not help
the Poor
the Foreigner
the Oppressed

You are Proud, like hell,
and sick, in your Wealth
gorging until you vomit
and then
gorge some more.

Be ashamed,
for your abominations
for your embrace of ignorance
and indifference.

For My sake,
Be ashamed.

Ezekiel 16, in part... my loose paraphrase

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

The Irrational Shriek

There is nothing whatsoever in the murky dark of the ancient forest at night that is not there in the daylight hours. Reason assures us that this is true.

I know better.

Having explored the local woods all my life, I am well aware that there are noises at night that can not always be identified. An angry snort from somewhere nearby, the rustle in the leaves of something too large to be a squirrel, the wingbeat of a creature that sounds much too leathery and brittle to be a feathered bird. These are sounds that disturb the conscious mind.
Still, in the day, we know the snort is a startled deer. The rustle, just a raccoon. The beating wings from a fleeing owl. In the daytime, we know this.

But at night... Well...

It was dusk and I had settled myself on a convenient tree stump next to a pond in a forgotten woods. The roar of the interstate and lights of the city were blotted out by the trees stretched out overhead and the rolling hills separating the known world from the unknown.

I came to this spot regularly in the autumn, to enjoy the sounds of the leaves falling, the crickets calling, the night coming to life. I came to listen.

This night, as I sat, quietly listening – intent upon separating out this creak from that groan from the other nearby rustle – I first heard the hideous Shriek. Inhuman. Grotesque. Impossible. What in our local woods would make such a disconcerting scream?

The Shriek came from Not Nearby. If I were to guess, I'd say 100 yards or more away. Curiosity – cursed curiosity! – won out over my fear, and I rose from my seat and quietly made my way in the direction of the Shriek. I didn't want to scare away whatever was making the noise.

Twenty steps closer and I heard it again, that soulless Shriek! Could it actually be a human, wounded and in trouble? The Shriek sounded so pitiable this time, and clearly closer. I moved, still quietly, but more quickly, in the direction of the Scream.

Twenty steps more and I paused to listen.


Then, SHRIEK!!

I nearly fell backwards in my fear. It was significantly closer. The Shriek – although human-sounding – was clearly NOT human, I knew this now. It was the sound of a – of a madwoman, nails turned to claws, abandoned in the woods and seeking food. It was the sound of Anger and Hatred.

In the dark of the night, I knew that it was the sound of Evil.


And close.

And maybe on the other side of me.

Between me and my path out.

I waited. I listened. I barely breathed.

No Shriek returned. No sound at all.

The leaves were not falling, the crickets were not calling, no frogs croaked from the nearby pond. I was alone and surrounded by a maddening silence, frozen in fear, unsure of which way to go.

An hour later – or so it seemed – I breathed again. I took a step. I walked back down the path and exited those Awful Woods, to my car and began heading home, but only after checking the back seat of my car.

It was empty.

The next day, the Google told me that foxes shriek when they are at play with one another. Harmless foxes cavorting in the woods. I listened to field recordings of foxes and there it was, the Shriek. But harmless now. In the light of the day.