Oh Brother

Oh brother,

I never knew you but for a few photos

And the vague memories told to me of how you were in life

Before you died at age 8.

Oh brother,

I often think of you

Filling in a life you never had

Imagining that big brother life for you

Imagining perhaps,

My not being born because you would have lived

Imagining perhaps,

Your continued life

A sacrifice of my never being born.

Oh brother,

I feel you with me at times

Watching as I write this

Looking over my shoulder

Crying with me as I cry,

Thinking about a brother I never knew

A brother I imagine 

Tries to touch my shoulder 

As we cry a duet

One so real

One in a spiritual realm


But joined with me now

In this flow of tears

Feeling you some how…

As I feel you have felt me

All my life. 

Oh brother,

I thank you for HAVING lived even 8 years

And inspired me

With love

To continue on so many times.

Oh brother,

I never knew you

But through these tears

Perhaps you can feel how much I love you. 

The Fall

“Don’t jump!”

They yell at me.


I whisper back,

“I did not jump

I was pushed 

Along time ago,

And it’s taken me this long

To Fall.”


Depression for me is falling down a hole 

Without the energy to even scream

Without the desire to live anymore 

So that I CAN scream.

It is hearing the voices of people distantly calling to me

Stupid things I try to ignore

Oh stop feeling sad

Don’t be that way

Cheer up!

But it’s like prayer for them: 

They don’t know what to do

Or what to say

So they say SOMETHING 

THEY FEEL will help

But all it is… 

Is talking down a hole

To someone disappearing

Or something

Or someone 

                                                                 Not there……

Altered States

Because I cannot enter into altered states of consciousness to escape unpleasant realities

I’d love to create altered states of consciousness

For those realities I find so unpleasant.

To make politicians bad trip out


To come back

Begging to come back to a Reality 

THEY so horribly abused

Then fearing The Trip,

Strive in the real to make the real a better place…

For the bad states of consciousness THEY projected on a public they were trusted

To so sanely

Compassionately serve. 

Because I cannot drink or use drugs

I’d like to remove the intoxication of power 

From the powered Elites

And humble them 


To find joy in service

In kindness

The only drug they need. 

Letting Go



In a room

At work

At my desk

There is a feeling, 

The end of drowning where you cannot struggle anymore

you twitch instinctively trying to live

But you cannot

You let go,

Exhaling with nothing left to exhale

But I am here

In my normal spaces

In the end of my air drowning

Twitching a little

Instinctively trying to live

But I cannot

I cannot continue 

Go on

And I let go…


Drowning in the air of my life

The existence

The Being of my life

Letting  go 

Like a drowned person…

Falling to the floor

As I would slowly fall after drowning


Let………………… GO. 




We see through the blur of our own tears

Or that of Others, 

A CLEARER vision of our Selves

And Humanity. 


We are moved to tears

By something we hear

A song

Something Said

Something we see

We read


Or horrible

A piece of art for a moment

A piece of reality in a moment

In a moment we witness


A deeper 

CLEARER vision of our Selves

And humanity

Through the blur of our own tears

Or that of others.

Sometimes crying,

Or seeing


The tears of others

We feel those tears inside us

A rain of pain

And joy 

Inside us.

Inside us

Through the burred veil of tears

We see our humanity

And that of Others,







Than anything we or another can do 

Or Feel

As Humans. 

It humbles us

And in the humbling joy pain of that rain of tears inside,

We are better


People for it. 


This afternoon as it was about to rain, I got this brilliant idea to get a STICK for my bird. I had cut a limb off of a tree a few weeks ago and that limb was like an animal carcass ready for the feast! Cut off a bit here and there and use it for… THE BIRD!

I did some rough measurements of about a half body length and got A STICK. I a nice rough with bark STICK with a few short branches on it. I placed it over the bird cage on top of some other sticks. I watched as the bird stood off swinging in a window. I moved away and the bird bobbed and craned it’s neck. Big new thing for it! A BIG STICK! Sure enough the bird flew up on the cage, hopped over some other sticks and investigated the new big stick. Part of it as thick as half my wrist. Ahhhh true joy! A stick to play with. Chew on and run around on! I sweetened the deal by putting a smear of peanut butter on the thick part it seemed to fear. Ahhhhh true love! PEANUT BUTTER TO DIG OUT OF BARK POCKETS! 

I was thinking about that stick and bird tonight. I have spent probably near $200 on various toys and things for that bird. Bird stuff. Fancy ropes and ladders. Toys with bells and bangles.  Of all that expensive stuff that I got for the bird, what does it like the most?


Sticks I cut and use as perches. Bird loves to play and chew on them. Good for toenails and beak. NATURAL stuff. Did not cost a thing! 

It reminds me of how when I was a kid… the best toys were….


Nothing store bought.

Nothing as advertised.

STICKS that the IMAGINATION can turn into magical things. Guns. Swords! Anything held by an actor in a science fiction or fantasy film! A STICK could be formed with the imagination to be something great! Something like nobody else could see but once you told them what it was and made the right noises… it was real to you!

I have it I see it but nobody else can see the worth and wonder of it but I got this… STICK!  Didn’t cost a thing except a cut with a jack knife making it personalized. Like a bird chewing on a stick 😉

Birds are eternal children playing with sticks. Outside, living in a stick world of play and survival. 

I wonder… so selfishly… did trees evolve for birds… and kids?

Before They Decide To Start A War

Those who wish to start wars

Before they start them from their desks

need to listen to the inglorious horror stories of the veterans

Those veterans 

Those amputees

Those doctors in military psych wards that treat people with PTSD.

They need to go to morgue and smell the dead

They need to be immersed in images of those shattered 




Tortured to death.

They need to experience all this

And know a small fraction of what war is…

And then they need to be taken to some barren place bereft of all life comforts

And beaten for days

Then brought back to life

Then maybe … feeling their scars for life

They can sit painfully

Horrified at a desk

And decide if men and women should be sent to be crippled 

And die.


If they have an ounce of humanity and empathy left in them,

They will weep as never before

As they make that horrible decision. 

If they do not and cannot,

THEY should be the one’s to die in that moment. 

Dying Gods

I just read that Rick Ocasek, the one-time leader of The Cars, a rock group of my youth, has died, age 75. There is often a chill that runs through me reading about such deaths as his. I remember him only as a young man just as I remember so MANY entertainers, rock musicians of my youth as young men and women. In their prime and then…I read of their deaths. So many it seems. It makes me feel MY age. A reminder of MY mortality of how they were the big kids living the wild dream when I was a wild kid. Now they are old and dying out but still young in my mind and their music I sometimes listen to. I sometimes wonder, while listening to song from my youth, “Is that singer still alive? What of the others that were in that band?” THEIR dying is a chilling reminder of, “your next!” Just as there were warnings when I was young, when rockers died from their excesses and hedonistic life styles. Warnings I often ignored but warnings that scared me. “Don’t stay on THIS path. Quit that shit you been doing or you will end-up like them but without the glory.

At times, seeing yet another rocker death or some actor or actress’s notice of death, I feel I am getting closer to that fate. The Reaper is reminding me in headlines and obituaries of my time is getting closer. It is a selfish taunting

I recall my parents noting people THEY grew up being entertained by, dying out. There became fewer and fewer of THEM as they got older and a morbid fascination reading the obituaries of THEIR gods.
My gods are often fat, grey haired or bald now. Some still trying to be rock and pop stars. The actors finding less work or not work for A list celebrities. Then they too are found dead. Cancer today took the life of…

I look around and see the life I am living. Shake my head and keep pushing to live clean and despite the cynicism of some in that I will die of something some time, I am TRYING to live longer than so many of the gods of my youth. At the same time I wonder if the old gods are lonely. Almost forgotten but hanging on.
Like me like WE.

We all hanging on and watching the Idols go from Billboard magazine front page to… back page obituaries in the main stream news.