Past barbed wire infantry,
Maple battalions
send paratroopers
leading.
Prop-toppers spin round and
round and
land like lace handkerchiefs.
Amazed
I watch this off-spring
float to the target —
(a yellowed matchbook cover).
I feel like a string
from a lost kite, too heavy
to float.
I will lie here and
watch them
spin.
Month: June 2012
Between Us (Nick Collection 1985-2012)
My boyfriend peeled
the cotton skin over
his head lifting upwards
as though he were sliding
downwards into some bronze
hole, his body a rich thick
aromatic Sunday AM coffee.
He was cold he said
as the cotton slid
down like blinds. Dale
has AIDS he said
as he tied my arms
round his chest. I didn’t
like him much he said.
But my arms only tightened
like a Chinese finger trap.
I’m going to lose him.
Allen Ludden, Help Me Please!?!?
Had I known, the moment after initially accessing the internet via winsock or an equally cryptic amalgamation of geeky gobbledygook, that membership to the exclusive clubs (known as websites) would require not just one ridiculously preposterous secret knock-knock (login) followed by an incomprehensible, ludicrous, wacky, loony, cockeyed, screwy, and off the wall cavalcade of letters, numbers, symbols, and smoke signals resembling hieroglyphics or purposefully enigmatic code which 99% of average humans can’t create much less reproduce, I’d have hung up my telephone receiver/modem and exclaimed, “let those living in a foreign country, speak a foreign language! Here, here we speak English: literal English: whole, cream-at-the-top, decadently-indulgent, Nym-sister inspired (Homo, Syno, and Anto), dipthong-declared English!
My internet usage is appropriate to my demographic but I currently store 200+ logins and corresponding passwords! Two Hundred! My password manager is the electronic equivalent of my pop’s workbench: more than half the crap he’s kept, when asked, he’s got no clue what it does, where it goes, when he used it, or why he’s kept it. Same with me – but don’t ever, ever delete any login/password combination – EVER – because that’s the one you’ll really need! And where do you keep the login/password combination to your Password Manager program?
I’m currently enduring the arduous task of searching through four years of notebooks (like the guy that pitched the winning lottery ticket) for a login/password combination I cleverly disguised as a common American idiom of which I was certain I’d remember because it was part of our vernacular in 2009 like Aberzombie. Remember Aberzombie? Can’t you just picture yourself around the Starbuck’s counter catty hissing that the size 2 no-foam-easy-skim-extra-hot-cappucino is such an Aberzombie? Like that: that’s like what I’m searching for: that’s not what I’m searching for.
To the internet community at-large (especially those responsible for the L-SAT level login/password combination requirements): Why not invent an easier (and more pleasurable) method of identification? I’d like to suggest a pair of lips closely resembling your husband/wife/lover; boyfriend/girlfriend; Clooney; Roberts; Jackman; Beyonce which, when kissed, captures your DNA and compares it to the DNA profile they’ve got stored.
Tongue however, locks you out. That’s just freaky-deaky.
The Classic Revival Chandelier
We adopted a Classical Revival opaque-glass inverted dome chandelier suspended by “faux aged-brass chains” through which were woven obvious electrical wire then disappeared into a polished brass top which was surrounded by a poorly reproduced Victorian 36″ plastic ceiling medallion.
During some interior remodeling we decided our electricians would center a light fixture (yet to be determined) over the dining room table. I decided that the “Old Girl” (the opaque-glass inverted dome) deserved a shot at redemption thus finding a permanent location in our home.
The following photographs show the restored Classic Revival opaque-glass inverted dome and rod chandelier proudly hanging above our dining room table. The restoration included (3) new keyless sockets inside the bowl, new brown 16 gauge wire threaded through (2) 17″ lengths of copper pipe (per socket) and into rings attached to the breaker. The breaker and knob were cleaned and refinished in a muted, antique copper finish. 
I refused to reinstall the plastic ceiling medallion and instead hand made a canopy built entirely from century old oak moulding rescued from an Edgewater (Chicago) mansion before its demolition. I wanted the canopy to step down and inward toward the breaker. I chose an octagonal shape. In all, there are (32) pieces of moulding and each joint is mitered at a 22.5 degree angle.
I’m a true believer in the rescue and restoration of objects once-treasured-then-discounted-by-cheap-materials. I try to repurpose materials; it’s our duty to the environment to give all objects “a second chance.”
I think the chandelier has reclaimed its mojo.
Self-Interest: Corruption Guaranteed
I think it happened during the Reagan years. It was around the time of power ties and the advent of cellular technology. That was when the i in America became more important than any group pronoun such as us, we, our, them. When self-interest became an ideology was precisely the moment that the we as a nation became a dirty word. America’s current woes stem from an obscene degree of entitlement, a self-indulgent morality, and a despicable depth of greed; the sum of which creates an environment of distrust which is fed a diet of impossible promises by leaders (edited and misrepresented by news outlets (who themselves have self-interest)) and the disintegrating pride to be a citizen of the United States of America.
It’s not a coincidence that the dawn of the internet was cloudy at first; mainstream America had little use for its content. But what ignited the web’s wildfire was the moment that disparaged and isolated men and women of many sexually divergent activities discovered each other through unmoderated global chat rooms; next to stumble through the door were the curious; then, like Alice following Rabbit, children handily navigated the new technology (like a game) and dropped dead-smack into chatrooms like raw meat tossed into the cages of nasty predators. Adults indulged their reputations too long; their admission of ignorance and thus training in the technology of the internet might’ve invoked authorities to act, to infiltrate and prosecute, to protect; but it took adults way too long to grasp who exactly their thirteen year old sons were meeting at the arcade. It’s an example of self-interest both on the part of the child predator and the narrow-minded adults.
The introduction of wickedly-fast download speeds, the steep decline in popularity of “graphical user interface and proprietary software” (think AOL), the advent of simple on-ramps to the internet cable or DSL, and of course the introduction of Yahoo! and CompuServe’s email system provided accessibility to a font of information and instantaneous communication. All this access produced a phenomenal sense of urgency, a global reach, and a sense of self-importance which exponentially exploded once Facebook emerged and quickly became the equivalence of your Christmas Card List. Overnight America went from millions and millions of nobodies to millions and millions of nobodies with friends. And friendship is oft borne by common interests. And conversations around common interests tend to illuminate injustice. Voila! Self-Interest is born.
But what happens when no one outside of your common interest group gives a crap about your injustice?
Deadlock. Lame Duck. Non-negotiable. Blame. Intolerance. Even insurrection, anarchy, bloodshed.
Unfortunately we’ve become a country of individuals corralled in to two political parties neither of which we feel particularly expresses how we really feel. And there we sit, millions of disenfranchised voters waiting for November to express our citizenship by voting for one of two people (our right to vote coerced like a false confession), but neither really represents me.
But maybe, maybe it’s not about me, maybe it’s about us, us with common interests like freedom and liberty and a free market and rights and that once cherished but now forgotten or a provincial joke, the American Dream. Our America will collapse if its forced to support millions and millions of fractious self-interested citizens. We’ve got to agree to disagree; to stop feuding; to reconcile our differences; and to stop the pettiness of self-interest.
We’re in a disaster and we need everyone to come together; it’s called brotherhood.



