by Therese Waneck
Great Giants marched before her
Awesome, towering and self contained
Laughingly she patted each one
On the back remembering her past
So starry eyed and now off track
She once flew above those towers divine
He courted her waiting for the magic time
Clothed in mystery she gazed
into the looking glass searching
for that past
Mirrored she sulkily strode across the room
silently filled with shadows of gloom
Such a trail she sought to mystify
Once she flew beyond those chambers
Divine
Now only to remain in the prism of his mind...
Sunday, April 20, 2014
Sunday, March 23, 2014
In Order To Get "There"
by Paul Nachbar
Well in order to get there from where you are
i found out very precisely and quite nicely too
You have to learn a trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion rules
And then you might just do something 'new":or 'really good'
Or "really really really good"
Hey, just like you, I was born a screamer and a crier
And a moaner and a whiner and a bastard and a bitch perhaps as well
I was born a puker a shitter a pisser and a farter
And a drooler too
With eyes and senses and ears wired for Mommy
Daddy maybe and a few other people too
And some simiple tricks of the trade like
Crawlng, sitting up, dreaming, dropping stuff or causing it to fall over,
Burping,sucking on things, rolling over, smiling, frowning
And being honest and pleased or
Displeased and showing off or faking it or
Administrating, ruling or negotiating stuff
As well as making various sounds and noises I created
In different pitches and of different durations which eventually seemed to have
Objective clearcut sound and reasonable meaning
To everybody else who spoke the "king's and queen's English"
Meaning of course of my household not theiirs. or yours or his or hers.
Now if you expect one from those origins to learn
Or to want to or need to or desire to or lust to learn and master
With any degree of competency those
Trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion rules
That exist regarding "everything"
Without some rudeness, nastiness, inappropriatness, direspect,
Withdrawls, bullyings. perceived bullyings, regressions, aggressions
Instabiliites, obessions, rumnations acts of bravery and cowardice
Responsible and irresponsible deeds, real and unreal things.
Good and bad stuff. too, immaturity, boasting, narcissism, grandiousity
Extreme shyness. hurt, tears,
Impatience, sarcasm, nastiness, deviations, teasings and torturings
Arguments, debates "nervous breakdowns" asininities, foolishnesses
Feuds, quarrels, battles, reunions, civil wars reactions, neuroses
Psychoses, fallings out, failures, false leads and a whole whole bunch
Of other stuff that the Jews call mishegas or schmuckeria.
And you can look those up
And not just among the mishbruchah
And you can look that one up too
Not to speak of borderline meshuggenah
And yes once again that would be useful to look up
Then you don't really know that much do you?
Well in order to get there from where you are
They told me very precisely and quite nicely too
You have to learn a trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion rules
And then you might just do something 'new":or 'really good'
Or "really really good"
Well in order to get there from where you are
i found out very precisely and quite nicely too
You have to learn a trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion rules
And then you might just do something 'new":or 'really good'
Or "really really really good"
Hey, just like you, I was born a screamer and a crier
And a moaner and a whiner and a bastard and a bitch perhaps as well
I was born a puker a shitter a pisser and a farter
And a drooler too
With eyes and senses and ears wired for Mommy
Daddy maybe and a few other people too
And some simiple tricks of the trade like
Crawlng, sitting up, dreaming, dropping stuff or causing it to fall over,
Burping,sucking on things, rolling over, smiling, frowning
And being honest and pleased or
Displeased and showing off or faking it or
Administrating, ruling or negotiating stuff
As well as making various sounds and noises I created
In different pitches and of different durations which eventually seemed to have
Objective clearcut sound and reasonable meaning
To everybody else who spoke the "king's and queen's English"
Meaning of course of my household not theiirs. or yours or his or hers.
Now if you expect one from those origins to learn
Or to want to or need to or desire to or lust to learn and master
With any degree of competency those
Trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion rules
That exist regarding "everything"
Without some rudeness, nastiness, inappropriatness, direspect,
Withdrawls, bullyings. perceived bullyings, regressions, aggressions
Instabiliites, obessions, rumnations acts of bravery and cowardice
Responsible and irresponsible deeds, real and unreal things.
Good and bad stuff. too, immaturity, boasting, narcissism, grandiousity
Extreme shyness. hurt, tears,
Impatience, sarcasm, nastiness, deviations, teasings and torturings
Arguments, debates "nervous breakdowns" asininities, foolishnesses
Feuds, quarrels, battles, reunions, civil wars reactions, neuroses
Psychoses, fallings out, failures, false leads and a whole whole bunch
Of other stuff that the Jews call mishegas or schmuckeria.
And you can look those up
And not just among the mishbruchah
And you can look that one up too
Not to speak of borderline meshuggenah
And yes once again that would be useful to look up
Then you don't really know that much do you?
Well in order to get there from where you are
They told me very precisely and quite nicely too
You have to learn a trillion trillion trillion trillion trillion rules
And then you might just do something 'new":or 'really good'
Or "really really good"
Jean
by Dedra Keller
In memory of you, by your 14 year old cousin.
Everyday that passes-
It seems like yesterday
Our 14 and 16 year old
“profound” talk-
Our boyfriends and-
Home-sewn dresses
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Oh! How I love
Your white, white smile-
Curve of your lip
Like crescent’s glowing moon
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
My coach-proud
Wiped my tears
When dad died
We sat silently
And looked-
And never spoke
Just- looked- just looked
At the ground
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
It was a young girl’s fall-
Leaves of dancing colors
Goblins chattering
With gritty, worn-out teeth-
Gnashing, gnashing
You were told-
Malignant
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Life has just begun-
“How is this possible?” you ask.
-Falling-falling to the ground
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
This song-on the radio!
It was written for you!
“Jean, Jean,” a Scottish lilt light, bright-
It plays in my head
Over again-Over
And I hope-
Just hope…
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
You are NEVER afraid-
Ever confident!
Flowing, flying hair
Amongst the breezes
Leaves-airborne!
The sky, so blue-
Blue just like those eyes.
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Home- you have come home
I look- just look
At hollow eyes, hollow eyes
Blue, hollow eyes
Airborne hair- light brown-
-GONE-
Brown light hair, brown marks blotch your face-
Your beautiful face-
That beautiful face
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
“It’s OK!” you tell me-
Noble boyfriend never left your side
“He’s noble!”
You tell me, “I am still intact-
look I’m still intact!”
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Crescent moon shines-
Dancing with the dark
Covers a part- a part of that beautiful face-
Such a beautiful face!
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
It’s a silent- cold, dark park when-
A shiver runs down my spine-
Electric feet racing, racing home-
She’s gone
She’s gone
Jean, Jean white bright moon-
Blue- blue eyes blue- blue sky.
In memory of you, by your 14 year old cousin.
Everyday that passes-
It seems like yesterday
Our 14 and 16 year old
“profound” talk-
Our boyfriends and-
Home-sewn dresses
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Oh! How I love
Your white, white smile-
Curve of your lip
Like crescent’s glowing moon
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
My coach-proud
Wiped my tears
When dad died
We sat silently
And looked-
And never spoke
Just- looked- just looked
At the ground
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
It was a young girl’s fall-
Leaves of dancing colors
Goblins chattering
With gritty, worn-out teeth-
Gnashing, gnashing
You were told-
Malignant
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Life has just begun-
“How is this possible?” you ask.
-Falling-falling to the ground
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
This song-on the radio!
It was written for you!
“Jean, Jean,” a Scottish lilt light, bright-
It plays in my head
Over again-Over
And I hope-
Just hope…
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
You are NEVER afraid-
Ever confident!
Flowing, flying hair
Amongst the breezes
Leaves-airborne!
The sky, so blue-
Blue just like those eyes.
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Home- you have come home
I look- just look
At hollow eyes, hollow eyes
Blue, hollow eyes
Airborne hair- light brown-
-GONE-
Brown light hair, brown marks blotch your face-
Your beautiful face-
That beautiful face
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
“It’s OK!” you tell me-
Noble boyfriend never left your side
“He’s noble!”
You tell me, “I am still intact-
look I’m still intact!”
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
Crescent moon shines-
Dancing with the dark
Covers a part- a part of that beautiful face-
Such a beautiful face!
Jean, Jean with the light brown hair and-
Blue, blue eyes-
Those eyes!
It’s a silent- cold, dark park when-
A shiver runs down my spine-
Electric feet racing, racing home-
She’s gone
She’s gone
Jean, Jean white bright moon-
Blue- blue eyes blue- blue sky.
High Range IQ Tests
by James Petro
Browsing for the right test
Which I finally find
I start solving the puzzles
That dazzle my mind
Thinking I've done all I can
An answer pops in my head
So I wait longer
In hopes it will happen again
Upon completion
I eagerly await
A score report
Revealing my fate
Browsing for the right test
Which I finally find
I start solving the puzzles
That dazzle my mind
Thinking I've done all I can
An answer pops in my head
So I wait longer
In hopes it will happen again
Upon completion
I eagerly await
A score report
Revealing my fate
Poems
by James Petro
Poems
Poems
I never write poems
How the pen won't stop tonight
This is not me
This is insanity
Poems
Poems
Please leave me alone
Poems
Poems
I never write poems
How the pen won't stop tonight
This is not me
This is insanity
Poems
Poems
Please leave me alone
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Friday, March 21, 2014
Some Might Find this Analysis Disturbing...
by Paul Nachbar
It is harder
Than one thinkgs
Whether or not
One has no money
Or some money
Or most money
Or almost all the money
And other similar
Perishible assets
When all the
Seven point four
Billion people
Among the living
Not to speak of
Those who are
Dead the
Great Silent Majority
Or fictional
Or legendary
Or mythological
Not to speak of
Theological
(most life not
absolutely logical)
Are all in some sense
Of the word
Vying and competing
For attention
Relative undivided
Or absolute
At once
Not to speak of
Difficulties
In interpretation
Analysis
And weighing
What is really what
Amidst the 'oh man's!!'
"Jesuses!! 'oh do THAT please"
"Just do it"
And "if you do THAT there will be trouble"
Not to speak of
The easy words
The hard words
The harder words
THe hardest words
The harshest words
And the buzzwords
From the various
And sundry
Hives
It is harder
Than one thinkgs
Whether or not
One has no money
Or some money
Or most money
Or almost all the money
And other similar
Perishible assets
When all the
Seven point four
Billion people
Among the living
Not to speak of
Those who are
Dead the
Great Silent Majority
Or fictional
Or legendary
Or mythological
Not to speak of
Theological
(most life not
absolutely logical)
Are all in some sense
Of the word
Vying and competing
For attention
Relative undivided
Or absolute
At once
Not to speak of
Difficulties
In interpretation
Analysis
And weighing
What is really what
Amidst the 'oh man's!!'
"Jesuses!! 'oh do THAT please"
"Just do it"
And "if you do THAT there will be trouble"
Not to speak of
The easy words
The hard words
The harder words
THe hardest words
The harshest words
And the buzzwords
From the various
And sundry
Hives
A Middle Class Familial Comitragedy
by Paul Nachbar
I imagine a married adult couple here
The genders of each being up to your imagination for now.
"He" is laying in bed, in a double bed or separate bed,
Reading a big thick book entitled "Lies the Way He Likes to Hear Them";
"She' for her part, is also laying in bed, reading another big thick book
Entitled "Lies the Way She Likes to Hear Them".
In between their doses of such readings, they exchange hostile or friendly
Or co- conspiratorial or humorous or erotic or amorous glances at one another.
They do this for a very long time.
At the foot of the bed, hidden in shadows, are the children
Who may or may not just be kids.
Or perhaps they are in the next room or in rooms far far away
Or very very very far away in some other place and time.
I imagine here a boy and a girl though it could be two boys or two girls
Who are not at the moment reading anything at all, respectable or unrespectable
To read, condemned or applauded by the official or unofficial critics and experts And Censors
Who both whisper, though not in the same voices perhaps
About 'truths nobody wants to hear":
The ones who seemingly did not quite 'make' it.
And so on and so on and so on...
I imagine a married adult couple here
The genders of each being up to your imagination for now.
"He" is laying in bed, in a double bed or separate bed,
Reading a big thick book entitled "Lies the Way He Likes to Hear Them";
"She' for her part, is also laying in bed, reading another big thick book
Entitled "Lies the Way She Likes to Hear Them".
In between their doses of such readings, they exchange hostile or friendly
Or co- conspiratorial or humorous or erotic or amorous glances at one another.
They do this for a very long time.
At the foot of the bed, hidden in shadows, are the children
Who may or may not just be kids.
Or perhaps they are in the next room or in rooms far far away
Or very very very far away in some other place and time.
I imagine here a boy and a girl though it could be two boys or two girls
Who are not at the moment reading anything at all, respectable or unrespectable
To read, condemned or applauded by the official or unofficial critics and experts And Censors
Who both whisper, though not in the same voices perhaps
About 'truths nobody wants to hear":
The ones who seemingly did not quite 'make' it.
And so on and so on and so on...
Thursday, March 20, 2014
My love has arrived
by Moira Greyland
My love has arrived on the wings of a breeze
and feeling alive at the thought of the seas
we will sail on together as homeward we go
I will love him through sunshine and starlight and snow.
This time for our love is the time of our life
The time that we two become husband and wife
We stand here together and I sing for love
And our joy at our wedding is sent from above.
Our friends and relations have come here to stand
and be with us now as we join hand in hand
Oh, give us your blessings as we join as one
our families and friendships have now just begun.
My love has arrived on the wings of a breeze
and feeling alive at the thought of the seas
we will sail on together as homeward we go
I will love him through sunshine and starlight and snow.
This time for our love is the time of our life
The time that we two become husband and wife
We stand here together and I sing for love
And our joy at our wedding is sent from above.
Our friends and relations have come here to stand
and be with us now as we join hand in hand
Oh, give us your blessings as we join as one
our families and friendships have now just begun.
You
by Jason Timm
A thought.
A dream.
A fantasy.
A kiss.
A touch.
An embrace.
Desire.
Pleasure.
Extasy.
True togetherness.
True love.
True passion.
My love.
My life.
My all.
A thought.
A dream.
A fantasy.
A kiss.
A touch.
An embrace.
Desire.
Pleasure.
Extasy.
True togetherness.
True love.
True passion.
My love.
My life.
My all.
Buena Vista Enigma
by Thomas Hally
What a great view from my table in the Buena Vista
not much to see now in this historic cafe but an Old Englishman
and his ugly sista'... maybe the cable car...?
La gente drinks and makes loud noises strange odd
sounds abound around here and around there
with cocktails and beers and shots being given the
bottoms up a brindis with their Irish coffees and Guinesses
over there and all are guzzled they are while the dogs
at the Fillmore and in the Mission are silently muzzled they are.
"The crab cakes were delicious, thank you, and yes,
quite a bargain at 2 for only $14! I will pass on dessert
(ironically stated), thanks!
You see, I am on a diet (embarrassed)".
So, life goes on and the story of my life is getting long
and continues to be the story of my life -- it plagues me!
Do you know what it is that bothers me? Wanna' guess?
(Truth is I don't know and could care less).
Mostly fat people congregating and milling around
as I watch them contemplating the Hyde and Powell Street Cable Cars
trundling to and fro' from hither, thither and yon
down the hill and up again quite a dizzying trek.
"I have changed my mind. I will have..."
What a great view from my table in the Buena Vista
not much to see now in this historic cafe but an Old Englishman
and his ugly sista'... maybe the cable car...?
La gente drinks and makes loud noises strange odd
sounds abound around here and around there
with cocktails and beers and shots being given the
bottoms up a brindis with their Irish coffees and Guinesses
over there and all are guzzled they are while the dogs
at the Fillmore and in the Mission are silently muzzled they are.
"The crab cakes were delicious, thank you, and yes,
quite a bargain at 2 for only $14! I will pass on dessert
(ironically stated), thanks!
You see, I am on a diet (embarrassed)".
So, life goes on and the story of my life is getting long
and continues to be the story of my life -- it plagues me!
Do you know what it is that bothers me? Wanna' guess?
(Truth is I don't know and could care less).
Mostly fat people congregating and milling around
as I watch them contemplating the Hyde and Powell Street Cable Cars
trundling to and fro' from hither, thither and yon
down the hill and up again quite a dizzying trek.
"I have changed my mind. I will have..."
Autour du lac enchanté
by Thomas Hally
Gentiment en caressant les plages claires et rocheuses l ‘eau effleure les pierres lisses avec une passion et les embrasse. Dans le va et vient nous nous mélangeons avec la foule.
Le tourbillon quotidien maintenant commence.
Le visage ridé de l’eau se fait un miroir, et la brume d’un matin glorieux joint la surface vitreuse de Lac Chapala jovialement rayonne comme un sourire réflecteur du soleil joyeux. Et il nous souhaite la bienvenue au printemps.
Quelques nuages gonflés se poussent mollement et se dirigent vers Monte Garcia, La Cristina et les endroits mystérieux à déjà un autre vue. Blancs aigrettes et oies bruyantes plongent avec grands pélicans et fauchent les joies du lac. En rivalisant ils cherchent les sombres au-dessous les profondeurs.
A San Juan, un pécheur avec visage brun-roux transpire à califourchon le lac et la plage dorée en tirant ses pêches au filet déjà chargées. Tezcatlipoca* arrive furtivement et le ciel occidental est de couleur cramoisi. Les Huichols détalent aux hamacs montagnes.
La nuit venteuse refroidie les femmes d’Ajijic et ses enfants allaitent son diner. C’est la première journée du printemps, le bien savouré. Je sens les soyeux manteaux noirs, les sensualités de la nuit, qui s’emparent de m’âme et sous peu l’amour me retrouve.
Dans ce moment l’aube se prépare et le soleil se lève. A l’intérieur de minutes la vie heureuse commencera encore et se déroulera brusquement pendant que le ciel bleu et jaune brillant ouvre mes yeux endormis avec son éclat silencieux en même temps choquant.
Je termine mon petit déjeuner et j’enjambe les fleurs oiseau de paradis et la petite source hors de la cuisine. Mes chiens aboient et se jettent sur à ma poitrine. Mon jardin me souhaite tous ses plaisirs.
*Le Dieu aztèque de la nuit.
Gentiment en caressant les plages claires et rocheuses l ‘eau effleure les pierres lisses avec une passion et les embrasse. Dans le va et vient nous nous mélangeons avec la foule.
Le tourbillon quotidien maintenant commence.
Le visage ridé de l’eau se fait un miroir, et la brume d’un matin glorieux joint la surface vitreuse de Lac Chapala jovialement rayonne comme un sourire réflecteur du soleil joyeux. Et il nous souhaite la bienvenue au printemps.
Quelques nuages gonflés se poussent mollement et se dirigent vers Monte Garcia, La Cristina et les endroits mystérieux à déjà un autre vue. Blancs aigrettes et oies bruyantes plongent avec grands pélicans et fauchent les joies du lac. En rivalisant ils cherchent les sombres au-dessous les profondeurs.
A San Juan, un pécheur avec visage brun-roux transpire à califourchon le lac et la plage dorée en tirant ses pêches au filet déjà chargées. Tezcatlipoca* arrive furtivement et le ciel occidental est de couleur cramoisi. Les Huichols détalent aux hamacs montagnes.
La nuit venteuse refroidie les femmes d’Ajijic et ses enfants allaitent son diner. C’est la première journée du printemps, le bien savouré. Je sens les soyeux manteaux noirs, les sensualités de la nuit, qui s’emparent de m’âme et sous peu l’amour me retrouve.
Dans ce moment l’aube se prépare et le soleil se lève. A l’intérieur de minutes la vie heureuse commencera encore et se déroulera brusquement pendant que le ciel bleu et jaune brillant ouvre mes yeux endormis avec son éclat silencieux en même temps choquant.
Je termine mon petit déjeuner et j’enjambe les fleurs oiseau de paradis et la petite source hors de la cuisine. Mes chiens aboient et se jettent sur à ma poitrine. Mon jardin me souhaite tous ses plaisirs.
*Le Dieu aztèque de la nuit.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Resurrection of the Fountain
by Thomas Hally
From the ground up 24 hours straight,
Our fountain pumped water up her tube and through her grate.
She did not sleep, our day and night companion.
A loyal minion in our backyard, our beloved dominion.
Then all of sudden her strong base cracked and chipped.
Up in the air and down her sides ceramic tiles flipped.
No longer did her powerful stream flow from bottom to top.
Day and night H2O flip-flopped without bothering to stop.
Hard ground opened and became soft and muddy.
Intricate bas-relief turned slimy, green and cruddy.
Her centerpiece gave way and crumbled to the ground.
There she lay, a forlorn and forgotten old cement mound.
Two years later, we called a meson and a plumber.
The two arrived and pulled a tube and a sack out of their Hummer.
They laid the foundation with the tube right smack dab in the center.
And returned when it dried, fixed the pipe and let the water re-enter.
Baroque mini figures now figure in the center of the new tube.
The surrounding tile is just lovely: each piece is a a pink hyper cube.
Our beautiful fountain of long ago and yesteryear,
has been replaced by a new one to the left of center right over here.
From the ground up 24 hours straight,
Our fountain pumped water up her tube and through her grate.
She did not sleep, our day and night companion.
A loyal minion in our backyard, our beloved dominion.
Then all of sudden her strong base cracked and chipped.
Up in the air and down her sides ceramic tiles flipped.
No longer did her powerful stream flow from bottom to top.
Day and night H2O flip-flopped without bothering to stop.
Hard ground opened and became soft and muddy.
Intricate bas-relief turned slimy, green and cruddy.
Her centerpiece gave way and crumbled to the ground.
There she lay, a forlorn and forgotten old cement mound.
Two years later, we called a meson and a plumber.
The two arrived and pulled a tube and a sack out of their Hummer.
They laid the foundation with the tube right smack dab in the center.
And returned when it dried, fixed the pipe and let the water re-enter.
Baroque mini figures now figure in the center of the new tube.
The surrounding tile is just lovely: each piece is a a pink hyper cube.
Our beautiful fountain of long ago and yesteryear,
has been replaced by a new one to the left of center right over here.
Will You?
by Jason Timm
they went to school and prepared for the day
that they were out on their own and making good pay
the american dream seemed well within reach
the family, the cars, the days at the beach
living the good life or so they were thinking
while all of the while in debt they were sinking
their choices while fun were sealing their fate
but for then they were fine and their payments not late
then came that day when their resources faded
their income was gone and their outlook was jaded
and after some time it became very clear
that the money they had wasn't really secure
so there was the dad with nothing to give
his family wondering just how they would live
no house, no clothes, no food from the store
with nowhere to go and -- no hope anymore
he turned to his neighbors and reluctantly asked
but was scolded and chided and taken to task
though excess they had and ability to give
from them he got nothing upon which to live
so he turned to his community while trying to cope
for a little bit of food and maybe some hope
but nothing they gave and no help they extended
if nothing now changes his days will have ended
it seems noone cared and no help was found
soon he and his family did fall to the ground
starvation and sickness consumed all their lives
leaving nothing behind but sadness and strife
if only someone would have cared enough
to share what they had and had given their stuff
this story would have ended with a family still there
but our world is too busy and too selfish to care
fortunately for us this story's not real
but instead of dismissing it I challenge YOU to feel
consider that there are so many in need
and the decision to help is all yours indeed
will you reach out a hand and choose to do something
or will you turn away again and opt to do nothing
you see people are starving and in all kinds of need
we must change our ways and stop living in greed!
God gave us the example of what it means to give
he sent his son down to this earth to live
Jesus came to serve us and gave all that he had
and now it is on us to give and be glad
we've looked right past others in search of our treasure
we've traded God's ways in pursuit of more pleasure
but now is our chance to do the right thing
to step up and take action and be like our king
in closing i'll ask you this one simple question
are you willing to make giving your life's obsession?
they went to school and prepared for the day
that they were out on their own and making good pay
the american dream seemed well within reach
the family, the cars, the days at the beach
living the good life or so they were thinking
while all of the while in debt they were sinking
their choices while fun were sealing their fate
but for then they were fine and their payments not late
then came that day when their resources faded
their income was gone and their outlook was jaded
and after some time it became very clear
that the money they had wasn't really secure
so there was the dad with nothing to give
his family wondering just how they would live
no house, no clothes, no food from the store
with nowhere to go and -- no hope anymore
he turned to his neighbors and reluctantly asked
but was scolded and chided and taken to task
though excess they had and ability to give
from them he got nothing upon which to live
so he turned to his community while trying to cope
for a little bit of food and maybe some hope
but nothing they gave and no help they extended
if nothing now changes his days will have ended
it seems noone cared and no help was found
soon he and his family did fall to the ground
starvation and sickness consumed all their lives
leaving nothing behind but sadness and strife
if only someone would have cared enough
to share what they had and had given their stuff
this story would have ended with a family still there
but our world is too busy and too selfish to care
fortunately for us this story's not real
but instead of dismissing it I challenge YOU to feel
consider that there are so many in need
and the decision to help is all yours indeed
will you reach out a hand and choose to do something
or will you turn away again and opt to do nothing
you see people are starving and in all kinds of need
we must change our ways and stop living in greed!
God gave us the example of what it means to give
he sent his son down to this earth to live
Jesus came to serve us and gave all that he had
and now it is on us to give and be glad
we've looked right past others in search of our treasure
we've traded God's ways in pursuit of more pleasure
but now is our chance to do the right thing
to step up and take action and be like our king
in closing i'll ask you this one simple question
are you willing to make giving your life's obsession?
Saturday, March 01, 2014
Untitled
by Bob Johnson
.
the blizzard has come.
night's a whiter shade of pale,
i will paint it black.
.
.
the blizzard has come.
night's a whiter shade of pale,
i will paint it black.
.
Many Other Ideations Seemed Quite Unnecessary At This Point
by Paul Nachbar
Many other ideations seemed quite redundant or piled on higher and deeper
When the former honors English teacher or
Or the former science student or Computer professor
Or the present engineer of some speciality or another
Or the former or present librarian
Or the former or present nurse
Or artist or poet or musician or singer or
Nun, mother superior, rabbi, minister
Theater director, movie director, amateur or professional neurotic and or psychotic
Amateur or professional moron or average Joe and Jane or talented folk or genius,
Average or professional criminal, eccentric, deviant or whipping boy,
Working or non working , married or not married, fertile of infertile household Goddess of whatever social class, milieu, religion, nation, ethnicity, political
Affiliation, weight or size or looks or spiritual category.
Or the former or present doctor or lawyer or CEO
Or the former or present policewoman or detective
Or the former or present conservative, radical or liberal Party Leader
Or the former or present private, sergeant lieutenant, major, colonel. corporal, captain
General or multiple star general, intelligence or investigative agent
Secretary, junior secretary, department head , translator, stock broker
Biochemist, physicist, geologist, fine or commercial artist, administrator,
Senator, representative, editor, mayor , judge, mail carrier, banker,
Novelist, playwright poet or essayist or even spokesperson
For social causes, advice columnist gossip columnist, newscaster,
Feminist theorist, man hater so called, debator, advocate, actress, model
Psychiatrist, psychologist, social worker, mental health worker
Philosopher, historian, linguist, pacifist, terrorist, strike leader, drug dealer,
Hitwoman thief, burglar, assassin, kidnapper, arsonist, saint
Suicide bomber, soldier , offensive or defensive judge or attorney
Psychiatric nurse or related professionals
Not to speak of marginal workers in factories and offices
And those in the varied sex trades as well
Told me-- I forget exactly which one-- that in some certain 'hard times'
She had stuck a banana up her vagina ..
So I asked my usual terse question "how was it"? and she said "ripe"
And I said "I guess that's sometimes good" and she said "yeah" and we
Smiled and I said "thank you for leveling the playing field" and
She said "You are very welcome" and we so very sweetly kissed.
Many other ideations seemed quite redundant or piled on higher and deeper
When the former honors English teacher or
Or the former science student or Computer professor
Or the present engineer of some speciality or another
Or the former or present librarian
Or the former or present nurse
Or artist or poet or musician or singer or
Nun, mother superior, rabbi, minister
Theater director, movie director, amateur or professional neurotic and or psychotic
Amateur or professional moron or average Joe and Jane or talented folk or genius,
Average or professional criminal, eccentric, deviant or whipping boy,
Working or non working , married or not married, fertile of infertile household Goddess of whatever social class, milieu, religion, nation, ethnicity, political
Affiliation, weight or size or looks or spiritual category.
Or the former or present doctor or lawyer or CEO
Or the former or present policewoman or detective
Or the former or present conservative, radical or liberal Party Leader
Or the former or present private, sergeant lieutenant, major, colonel. corporal, captain
General or multiple star general, intelligence or investigative agent
Secretary, junior secretary, department head , translator, stock broker
Biochemist, physicist, geologist, fine or commercial artist, administrator,
Senator, representative, editor, mayor , judge, mail carrier, banker,
Novelist, playwright poet or essayist or even spokesperson
For social causes, advice columnist gossip columnist, newscaster,
Feminist theorist, man hater so called, debator, advocate, actress, model
Psychiatrist, psychologist, social worker, mental health worker
Philosopher, historian, linguist, pacifist, terrorist, strike leader, drug dealer,
Hitwoman thief, burglar, assassin, kidnapper, arsonist, saint
Suicide bomber, soldier , offensive or defensive judge or attorney
Psychiatric nurse or related professionals
Not to speak of marginal workers in factories and offices
And those in the varied sex trades as well
Told me-- I forget exactly which one-- that in some certain 'hard times'
She had stuck a banana up her vagina ..
So I asked my usual terse question "how was it"? and she said "ripe"
And I said "I guess that's sometimes good" and she said "yeah" and we
Smiled and I said "thank you for leveling the playing field" and
She said "You are very welcome" and we so very sweetly kissed.
Excerpt from "Beautiful Vices"
by Samuel Harris
Excerpt from "Beautiful Vices"
Book I - The Upwards Gaze (Words Between Mother and Daughter)
“Hey sweetie…happy birthday. How are you?” her mom said.
“What do you want Vanessa?” replied the daughter. (Sharon)
“Nothing really…just some things I have to get off my chest,” said her mother. Sharon could tell that Vanessa (her mother) had been crying.
“Look, I really don’t have the time right now," Sharon replied.
“I have so much to tell you…and I know you’re in a place right now that if you never heard from me again, you wouldn't shed a tear. But I feel I must let you know these things. I haven’t been the best parent sweetheart, and I know this –”
“Are you high right now?”
“I’ve failed you in so many ways. The things I’ve done to you, I feel I must atone, but I don’t know how. All that I’ve put you through, I feel like it is impossible to atone. I think that all the wrongs that I’ve done to you and father placed a stain on my soul.”
“And you want me to feel pity for you?”
“Baby I just want to you listen, and really hear me.”
“Sharon, call me Sharon, not baby…”
“It creeps up late at night and at the most unexpected moments. Just when I think I’ve overcome just a little, in comes the guilt which drags me lower than where I was before, and then I use.”
“Like you probably did a few hours ago?”
“Sharon, this soul of mine is marred, and there is no escaping. It weighs heavy on my heart. I want to get clean, I do, but I feel like I deserve to suffer. I’d do anything for you, anything, just to show you how sorry I am.”
“I know where you’re going. I’ve heard this time after time, so don’t, just don’t.”
“I’ve been to the most dangerous crevices of the mind, thinking about how much pain you’re in, that if I sent you to God, you’d be better off. How if you’d never been born, then you would never have had to endure the heartache you have, which is ten times over my own. Baby, I’m so, so sorry. I ask your forgiveness, from the bottom of my heart; please, I need your forgiveness to in part lift this weight off of my shoulders. I feel that if I don’t resolve this, then I can never be truly free…and I will wonder…sweetie, please…just tell me you love me, tell me you care and are willing to let me try to make up for what you needed from me that I couldn’t give because of my addiction.”
“You don’t get to do this!”
“Do what?” Vanessa said. She could hear the tears in her daughter’s voice.
“Call me up, and put me in a position to feel sorry for you! You’ve made your choices. You decided that it was better drop us off at the park so you could sleep with some random stranger for the promise of whatever it is you were using at the time. You don’t get to come back into my life and rob me of my joy, peace, and happiness.” Sharon stood up while she was speaking, and her voice as she said this was shaky. She was holding back so much hurt and she didn’t want to break down in front of her friends, on her birthday.
“…I’m sorry…Sharon…just…please…”
“I have to go Vanessa, I’ll call you if I need you,” said Sharon; and with that she hung up the phone. She sat down again, slammed the phone on the table, and brought her hand to her face and closed her eyes. Even so, tears squeezed through her shut eyelids. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the door to her apartment close as her friends were walking out. She lied herself onto the couch, curled her legs and let out sobs so great that her friends could hear them as they walked to the elevator.
After a while, the sobbing died down and in that moment she felt an even greater sorrow swell up within her. As she whispered uncontrollably, she felt in her body that all of her ill-doings and those of her mother and father were brought to consciousness at the center of her spirit; her body moved on its own accord. With each grumble, each breath, piece by piece, the weight of her angst was trying to be released to God, but instead of a release, it expanding within her without bursting. In her mind she recalled when she was six and went looking for her mother around the neighborhood and found her in the alley on the side of supermarket with a stranger, tourniquet on arm, needle by her side, foaming at the mouth. She remembered how her father warned her not to go the supermarket anymore. But she also recalled that her father would often leave the house and head in that direction. When he would return, he had bottles of liquor in brown paper bags, and would sit them on the coffee table, and drink until he passed out. She remembered sitting by his side, waiting for him to wake up and fix her something to eat, for him to hold her, to tell her that mommy would get better, and that everything would be alright; that the family she’d known just two years ago would be restored. But that never happened.
As her voice carried on without her control, she felt arms surround her, and a still, quiet voice said to her, “Push through.” It was Aaron (her boyfriend) and he held her until she fell asleep.
Excerpt from "Beautiful Vices"
Book I - The Upwards Gaze (Words Between Mother and Daughter)
“Hey sweetie…happy birthday. How are you?” her mom said.
“What do you want Vanessa?” replied the daughter. (Sharon)
“Nothing really…just some things I have to get off my chest,” said her mother. Sharon could tell that Vanessa (her mother) had been crying.
“Look, I really don’t have the time right now," Sharon replied.
“I have so much to tell you…and I know you’re in a place right now that if you never heard from me again, you wouldn't shed a tear. But I feel I must let you know these things. I haven’t been the best parent sweetheart, and I know this –”
“Are you high right now?”
“I’ve failed you in so many ways. The things I’ve done to you, I feel I must atone, but I don’t know how. All that I’ve put you through, I feel like it is impossible to atone. I think that all the wrongs that I’ve done to you and father placed a stain on my soul.”
“And you want me to feel pity for you?”
“Baby I just want to you listen, and really hear me.”
“Sharon, call me Sharon, not baby…”
“It creeps up late at night and at the most unexpected moments. Just when I think I’ve overcome just a little, in comes the guilt which drags me lower than where I was before, and then I use.”
“Like you probably did a few hours ago?”
“Sharon, this soul of mine is marred, and there is no escaping. It weighs heavy on my heart. I want to get clean, I do, but I feel like I deserve to suffer. I’d do anything for you, anything, just to show you how sorry I am.”
“I know where you’re going. I’ve heard this time after time, so don’t, just don’t.”
“I’ve been to the most dangerous crevices of the mind, thinking about how much pain you’re in, that if I sent you to God, you’d be better off. How if you’d never been born, then you would never have had to endure the heartache you have, which is ten times over my own. Baby, I’m so, so sorry. I ask your forgiveness, from the bottom of my heart; please, I need your forgiveness to in part lift this weight off of my shoulders. I feel that if I don’t resolve this, then I can never be truly free…and I will wonder…sweetie, please…just tell me you love me, tell me you care and are willing to let me try to make up for what you needed from me that I couldn’t give because of my addiction.”
“You don’t get to do this!”
“Do what?” Vanessa said. She could hear the tears in her daughter’s voice.
“Call me up, and put me in a position to feel sorry for you! You’ve made your choices. You decided that it was better drop us off at the park so you could sleep with some random stranger for the promise of whatever it is you were using at the time. You don’t get to come back into my life and rob me of my joy, peace, and happiness.” Sharon stood up while she was speaking, and her voice as she said this was shaky. She was holding back so much hurt and she didn’t want to break down in front of her friends, on her birthday.
“…I’m sorry…Sharon…just…please…”
“I have to go Vanessa, I’ll call you if I need you,” said Sharon; and with that she hung up the phone. She sat down again, slammed the phone on the table, and brought her hand to her face and closed her eyes. Even so, tears squeezed through her shut eyelids. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the door to her apartment close as her friends were walking out. She lied herself onto the couch, curled her legs and let out sobs so great that her friends could hear them as they walked to the elevator.
After a while, the sobbing died down and in that moment she felt an even greater sorrow swell up within her. As she whispered uncontrollably, she felt in her body that all of her ill-doings and those of her mother and father were brought to consciousness at the center of her spirit; her body moved on its own accord. With each grumble, each breath, piece by piece, the weight of her angst was trying to be released to God, but instead of a release, it expanding within her without bursting. In her mind she recalled when she was six and went looking for her mother around the neighborhood and found her in the alley on the side of supermarket with a stranger, tourniquet on arm, needle by her side, foaming at the mouth. She remembered how her father warned her not to go the supermarket anymore. But she also recalled that her father would often leave the house and head in that direction. When he would return, he had bottles of liquor in brown paper bags, and would sit them on the coffee table, and drink until he passed out. She remembered sitting by his side, waiting for him to wake up and fix her something to eat, for him to hold her, to tell her that mommy would get better, and that everything would be alright; that the family she’d known just two years ago would be restored. But that never happened.
As her voice carried on without her control, she felt arms surround her, and a still, quiet voice said to her, “Push through.” It was Aaron (her boyfriend) and he held her until she fell asleep.
Not in My Back Yard Suckers (NIMBYS)
by Paul Nachbar
---musings of hyperadvanced alien life form "administrator/bouncer/cop.soldier'" who prefers to be nameless, from remote viewing location currently inaccessible by anticipated scientific
evolution
First Sampling
"Too smart, too dumb
Too slow, too quick:
Their agitations
Make me sick.
Because their ways
Make me feel sick
I'll just write down
That they are sick
Or else since they
Don't follow rules
That they taught
In all OUR schools
I will write down here
"Immature"
Or "evil" "sinful"
And "impure"
Perhaps or
Too damned different
I think that we
Should throw them
Out, who cares
About these odd men out?
Not anyone that
I can see:
Hence they 'deserved'
This misery:
We now drift
Into fantasy"
Second Sampling
"I see now
That all their history
Is never a big mystery
Death clashes
Between rich and poor
And nations
Genders, classes races:
When the victory is sure
They erase all of
Their victim's traces.
Thus one sees
In the smallest stuff
The causes of the
Largest stuff.
I really wish to
Remain fair
Its not that
I do not quite care
I just think
I dislike these
Folks and wish
That they would
Move elsewhere:
They all tend
To get in my hair"
Ultimate Solution for Earth (?)
"No. problems
They can never solve
And problems
They will surely spread
Long past the
Youngest ones of them
Alive are long since
Buried, long since dead.
It makes me sad
To think such stuff
It makes me mad
To think such stuff
Perhaps those tapes
Must be erased
Before they poison
Every trace
Of values in their
Galaxy, small
Corner of their
Universe
Small section
Of our multiverse
But there is time
I can delay
Decisions for
Another day
Before i do
Empathy discard
For such vile folks
The basic rule
No more no less
Of nasty stuff
(no need for us to quite obsess)
In every school
Both soft and hard
Re: nasty stuff is
"Not in my back yard"
---musings of hyperadvanced alien life form "administrator/bouncer/cop.soldier'" who prefers to be nameless, from remote viewing location currently inaccessible by anticipated scientific
evolution
First Sampling
"Too smart, too dumb
Too slow, too quick:
Their agitations
Make me sick.
Because their ways
Make me feel sick
I'll just write down
That they are sick
Or else since they
Don't follow rules
That they taught
In all OUR schools
I will write down here
"Immature"
Or "evil" "sinful"
And "impure"
Perhaps or
Too damned different
I think that we
Should throw them
Out, who cares
About these odd men out?
Not anyone that
I can see:
Hence they 'deserved'
This misery:
We now drift
Into fantasy"
Second Sampling
"I see now
That all their history
Is never a big mystery
Death clashes
Between rich and poor
And nations
Genders, classes races:
When the victory is sure
They erase all of
Their victim's traces.
Thus one sees
In the smallest stuff
The causes of the
Largest stuff.
I really wish to
Remain fair
Its not that
I do not quite care
I just think
I dislike these
Folks and wish
That they would
Move elsewhere:
They all tend
To get in my hair"
Ultimate Solution for Earth (?)
"No. problems
They can never solve
And problems
They will surely spread
Long past the
Youngest ones of them
Alive are long since
Buried, long since dead.
It makes me sad
To think such stuff
It makes me mad
To think such stuff
Perhaps those tapes
Must be erased
Before they poison
Every trace
Of values in their
Galaxy, small
Corner of their
Universe
Small section
Of our multiverse
But there is time
I can delay
Decisions for
Another day
Before i do
Empathy discard
For such vile folks
The basic rule
No more no less
Of nasty stuff
(no need for us to quite obsess)
In every school
Both soft and hard
Re: nasty stuff is
"Not in my back yard"
HIM
by Samuel Harris
What was it about him?
His smile? His voice? His intelligence?
His touch? His heart?
You beheld beauty such that you had never seen.
And in came the hope that at last you had found the last good man.
With this hope you extended yourself, drew him near
And together you began a journey that you hoped would be unending.
He stood by you, and you stood by him.
The sacrifice you gave, you were sure
Would be evidence enough of your unconditional love.
How dare him? Maybe I’m at fault.
Let us build together –
Let me show you how we can work.
Time passed and we’re growing stronger, you thought
And you were building for the both of you
But with each building block, somehow he knocked it down.
He had set his eyes around the corner
And began drifting around the block.
What you thought you fell in love with
Was nothing more than a fleeting moment for him –
A list on which he’s putting checkmarks.
So you took those same building blocks
And with a wounded heart and a broken spirit, built a wall
One which could tower over the others,
One which could shelter you from the storm –
A pleading, solidification of what once was
And the marking of a new chapter.
“I will not forgive him” – “Never again,” you said.
But oh, don’t you see beloved, that that very wall you built
Is the very same that entraps you in yesterday.
And as you’re trying to move forward
You can’t see beyond your own hurt, shame, anger and guilt –
Beyond the wall. When you realize that you’re holding on to yesterday –
A dead thing – and when you truly want to move forward
Into tomorrow but can’t, finding yourself in the repeat of the before
Running across the same no good men
Understand that you will be unable to break free
Until you take down that wall, brick by brick.
To heal, to grow, you must remove each brick
And accept that what’s done is done.
With each brick you take down, it’s about forgiveness,
And though it hurts, and though it takes time,
You will realize in time,
That you can finally see the richness around you,
And all the good men that you’d shut out
Were all along trying to pull you over that wall.
What was it about him?
His smile? His voice? His intelligence?
His touch? His heart?
You beheld beauty such that you had never seen.
And in came the hope that at last you had found the last good man.
With this hope you extended yourself, drew him near
And together you began a journey that you hoped would be unending.
He stood by you, and you stood by him.
The sacrifice you gave, you were sure
Would be evidence enough of your unconditional love.
How dare him? Maybe I’m at fault.
Let us build together –
Let me show you how we can work.
Time passed and we’re growing stronger, you thought
And you were building for the both of you
But with each building block, somehow he knocked it down.
He had set his eyes around the corner
And began drifting around the block.
What you thought you fell in love with
Was nothing more than a fleeting moment for him –
A list on which he’s putting checkmarks.
So you took those same building blocks
And with a wounded heart and a broken spirit, built a wall
One which could tower over the others,
One which could shelter you from the storm –
A pleading, solidification of what once was
And the marking of a new chapter.
“I will not forgive him” – “Never again,” you said.
But oh, don’t you see beloved, that that very wall you built
Is the very same that entraps you in yesterday.
And as you’re trying to move forward
You can’t see beyond your own hurt, shame, anger and guilt –
Beyond the wall. When you realize that you’re holding on to yesterday –
A dead thing – and when you truly want to move forward
Into tomorrow but can’t, finding yourself in the repeat of the before
Running across the same no good men
Understand that you will be unable to break free
Until you take down that wall, brick by brick.
To heal, to grow, you must remove each brick
And accept that what’s done is done.
With each brick you take down, it’s about forgiveness,
And though it hurts, and though it takes time,
You will realize in time,
That you can finally see the richness around you,
And all the good men that you’d shut out
Were all along trying to pull you over that wall.
Some Superstitions
by Paul Nachbar
It would be Great and Big and Large if i were thoroughly rational
(not confined to the petty and small and minor range of things)
Logical, objective, a lightning calculator,coolheaded, seemingly strong
Calm , collected,clearheaded,a Major or a Minor Dynamic Problem Solver
A Major or Minor Leader,
A Major or Minor Good Guy in the Eyes of Self and Others
Or Bad Guy in the Eyes of Self and Others,
A Major or Minor Scholar or Public Speaker Creator, Debator or Authority
For my own Good and that of Society, The Cause,
The World,The Ideal, the Goal, The Objective The Game
The Girl, The Boy, The Party, the Nation, The Society,
The Family, The God (or substitute for such)he House, the Car, The Glory
The Prize, the People, whatever
A computer brain as some had accused me of being,
A kind of contemporary Mr Spock: that would be
Something indeed: when almost none of 'us'
Is getting any sort of job, to be the Number Two person
Or hell maybe even Number One person
Aboard some 'ship' not utterly insignificant,
Not utterly unremunerated?
Alas I ended up being, probably not that much unlike you
A great believer in oracles, horoscopes, Great
Speeches with Great Arguments and fortune cookies, Gossip Columns:
If the given oracle had the appropriate looks,
Either horrifyingly ugly or else quite beautiful to me,
I would believe them, no matter what the actual logic here;
If the horoscopes seemed to have the proper form and style
And without much extra close examination, validity, reliability
Consistency and other virtues, then I believed them kind of
No matter where they came from;
If the Great Speeches and Great Arguments were written by people
With the appropriate credentials, which means
Who seemed 'educated' or 'schooled' or "properly trained" or 'well spoken'
Or very 'civilized' OR "very cultured" or 'very barbaric ' too
Or 'self confident' or interestingly self doubtful
Orr who had a 'big vocabulary or way with words and knew how to use it"
People who relative to my frame of references
Made up a great thoroughly convincing story
Including anecdotes which stuck to your mind like krazy glue
Whether true or false or debatable and dubious
And lots of flashy seemingly brilliantly descriptive or at least unforgettable
Buzz words, insults, prophecies glorious and grim, choice adjectives,
References to desired rewards and dreaded punishments
And very believable-seeming sets of statistics and calm, flowing
References to what some Authority had onetime said or supposedly said
Even if some of these stories were demonstrably false
Or cooked up or partial truths or appealed to emotions alone,
Particularly those of dare I say 'our' deepest anxieties about
Ourselves and our own absolute or relative or relatively or absolute safety
Of some kind,
"Value", "esteem", 'worth' or 'significance' or 'status' or 'popularity'
"Destiny" , 'doom" or 'fate'or 'loveabiity' or 'sexiness' or "attractiveness"
Or 'moral quality" or 'imagintiive quality" or "compatibility with others'
Or 'power in the marketplace' or 'power in the church or synagogue'
Or 'rank' as people who are deemed 'normal' or 'abnormal' or 'weird'
Or 'healthy' and 'unhealthy' or 'smart' or 'dumb'
Or that of good and bad,
I tended to believe them, at least to some degree.
.
If the fortune cookie slogans, or quotations "remarkable"
In their seeming crispness and terseness and cogency near universal applicability
As wise sources of advice on how to act, what to hope for, what to value,
What to believe in, who to believe in thoroughly, who was innocent
And who was guilty of such and such a crime or error in thinking or feeling
Or doing or expression or character or morality or attire and who was happy
For what reasons that one had any say in
Seemed to have the slightest thing to do with my life and times
And all those individuals who were variables in my life, past , present and future
I tended to believe them to and at times to make other people believe such too
And wanted to Leap into Productive and Remunerative Action quite dramatically.
But as all this magnificent flow of things went through my mind,
With some additions and subtractions and corrections, believable and not
From selected other people who seem to have earned some authority with me
Over time through such and such methods and tactics or techniques
Not to speak of gossip columns, public and private, broadcast and not broadcast,
Sung and not sung, spoken and not spoken, painted and not painted,
Drawn and not drawn, acted and not acted, danced and not danced,
Recorded and not recorded, filmed and not filmed, staged and not staged
Written down and not written down, of high and medium and low reputations,
Relating to friends or foes or texts or articles or popularistic or more formal sources:
Yes, I tend too to believe in much of that as well, like you
I somehow thought about something Mom had said 50 years ago:
"Sometimes stepping in shit is good luck too"
Though I doubt she meant on a daily or hourly basis.
Then I settled back, as usual , upon my couch, did a minor bit of unassigned
Cleaning,
A minor bit of unassigned cooking, a very minor bit of unassigned planning and a Very minor bit of unassigned believing
In anything other than myself and the things in my apartment
Plus some bird nattering on and on with some variations in a not unpleasant
Manner outside my window, all far more obscure to me than Greek or Latin,
The Hebrew I almost totally do not recall right now, the French I sort of know,
The German I almost totally forgot, Arabic, Farsi or Chinese which I do not
Know at all..
Regarding that particular bird and probably all other birds who are alive:
Either he or she is 'hungry' or he or she is not.
Either he or she is 'friendly' or he or she is not
Either or she is 'competing' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'cooperating' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'jealous' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'bullying' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'boastful' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'lonely' or he or she is not.
Either he or she is 'needy' or he or she is not
Either he or she 'is wanting' or he or she is not.
Either he or she 'admiring' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'nesting' or he or she is not
Either he or she wants 'mating' or he or she does not.
Either he or she is 'fighting' or he or she is not.
Either her or she is' horny' or he or she is not.
Either he or she is 'brave' or he or she is 'scared'
Either he or she is 'happy' or he or she is sad'
Or some usual or unusual pleasing exciting or saddening
Or maddening- longterm or shortterm combinations of all of the above:
Basic stuff like that.
Ah well: just a bunch of birdbrains chirping out the window
As they have been doing for a very very long time
With mostly the usual but not entilrely the usual consequences
In their varieagated bird lives
With all their diverse feathers of many different kinds
Both appealing to me and not appealing in the very least
Distracting of course though somewhat boring too
Endlessly enthusiastic about stuff that happens all the time
Endlessly enthusiastic about stuff that happened all the time
Endlessly enthusiastic about stuff that will probably happen all the time
It would be Great and Big and Large if i were thoroughly rational
(not confined to the petty and small and minor range of things)
Logical, objective, a lightning calculator,coolheaded, seemingly strong
Calm , collected,clearheaded,a Major or a Minor Dynamic Problem Solver
A Major or Minor Leader,
A Major or Minor Good Guy in the Eyes of Self and Others
Or Bad Guy in the Eyes of Self and Others,
A Major or Minor Scholar or Public Speaker Creator, Debator or Authority
For my own Good and that of Society, The Cause,
The World,The Ideal, the Goal, The Objective The Game
The Girl, The Boy, The Party, the Nation, The Society,
The Family, The God (or substitute for such)he House, the Car, The Glory
The Prize, the People, whatever
A computer brain as some had accused me of being,
A kind of contemporary Mr Spock: that would be
Something indeed: when almost none of 'us'
Is getting any sort of job, to be the Number Two person
Or hell maybe even Number One person
Aboard some 'ship' not utterly insignificant,
Not utterly unremunerated?
Alas I ended up being, probably not that much unlike you
A great believer in oracles, horoscopes, Great
Speeches with Great Arguments and fortune cookies, Gossip Columns:
If the given oracle had the appropriate looks,
Either horrifyingly ugly or else quite beautiful to me,
I would believe them, no matter what the actual logic here;
If the horoscopes seemed to have the proper form and style
And without much extra close examination, validity, reliability
Consistency and other virtues, then I believed them kind of
No matter where they came from;
If the Great Speeches and Great Arguments were written by people
With the appropriate credentials, which means
Who seemed 'educated' or 'schooled' or "properly trained" or 'well spoken'
Or very 'civilized' OR "very cultured" or 'very barbaric ' too
Or 'self confident' or interestingly self doubtful
Orr who had a 'big vocabulary or way with words and knew how to use it"
People who relative to my frame of references
Made up a great thoroughly convincing story
Including anecdotes which stuck to your mind like krazy glue
Whether true or false or debatable and dubious
And lots of flashy seemingly brilliantly descriptive or at least unforgettable
Buzz words, insults, prophecies glorious and grim, choice adjectives,
References to desired rewards and dreaded punishments
And very believable-seeming sets of statistics and calm, flowing
References to what some Authority had onetime said or supposedly said
Even if some of these stories were demonstrably false
Or cooked up or partial truths or appealed to emotions alone,
Particularly those of dare I say 'our' deepest anxieties about
Ourselves and our own absolute or relative or relatively or absolute safety
Of some kind,
"Value", "esteem", 'worth' or 'significance' or 'status' or 'popularity'
"Destiny" , 'doom" or 'fate'or 'loveabiity' or 'sexiness' or "attractiveness"
Or 'moral quality" or 'imagintiive quality" or "compatibility with others'
Or 'power in the marketplace' or 'power in the church or synagogue'
Or 'rank' as people who are deemed 'normal' or 'abnormal' or 'weird'
Or 'healthy' and 'unhealthy' or 'smart' or 'dumb'
Or that of good and bad,
I tended to believe them, at least to some degree.
.
If the fortune cookie slogans, or quotations "remarkable"
In their seeming crispness and terseness and cogency near universal applicability
As wise sources of advice on how to act, what to hope for, what to value,
What to believe in, who to believe in thoroughly, who was innocent
And who was guilty of such and such a crime or error in thinking or feeling
Or doing or expression or character or morality or attire and who was happy
For what reasons that one had any say in
Seemed to have the slightest thing to do with my life and times
And all those individuals who were variables in my life, past , present and future
I tended to believe them to and at times to make other people believe such too
And wanted to Leap into Productive and Remunerative Action quite dramatically.
But as all this magnificent flow of things went through my mind,
With some additions and subtractions and corrections, believable and not
From selected other people who seem to have earned some authority with me
Over time through such and such methods and tactics or techniques
Not to speak of gossip columns, public and private, broadcast and not broadcast,
Sung and not sung, spoken and not spoken, painted and not painted,
Drawn and not drawn, acted and not acted, danced and not danced,
Recorded and not recorded, filmed and not filmed, staged and not staged
Written down and not written down, of high and medium and low reputations,
Relating to friends or foes or texts or articles or popularistic or more formal sources:
Yes, I tend too to believe in much of that as well, like you
I somehow thought about something Mom had said 50 years ago:
"Sometimes stepping in shit is good luck too"
Though I doubt she meant on a daily or hourly basis.
Then I settled back, as usual , upon my couch, did a minor bit of unassigned
Cleaning,
A minor bit of unassigned cooking, a very minor bit of unassigned planning and a Very minor bit of unassigned believing
In anything other than myself and the things in my apartment
Plus some bird nattering on and on with some variations in a not unpleasant
Manner outside my window, all far more obscure to me than Greek or Latin,
The Hebrew I almost totally do not recall right now, the French I sort of know,
The German I almost totally forgot, Arabic, Farsi or Chinese which I do not
Know at all..
Regarding that particular bird and probably all other birds who are alive:
Either he or she is 'hungry' or he or she is not.
Either he or she is 'friendly' or he or she is not
Either or she is 'competing' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'cooperating' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'jealous' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'bullying' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'boastful' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'lonely' or he or she is not.
Either he or she is 'needy' or he or she is not
Either he or she 'is wanting' or he or she is not.
Either he or she 'admiring' or he or she is not
Either he or she is 'nesting' or he or she is not
Either he or she wants 'mating' or he or she does not.
Either he or she is 'fighting' or he or she is not.
Either her or she is' horny' or he or she is not.
Either he or she is 'brave' or he or she is 'scared'
Either he or she is 'happy' or he or she is sad'
Or some usual or unusual pleasing exciting or saddening
Or maddening- longterm or shortterm combinations of all of the above:
Basic stuff like that.
Ah well: just a bunch of birdbrains chirping out the window
As they have been doing for a very very long time
With mostly the usual but not entilrely the usual consequences
In their varieagated bird lives
With all their diverse feathers of many different kinds
Both appealing to me and not appealing in the very least
Distracting of course though somewhat boring too
Endlessly enthusiastic about stuff that happens all the time
Endlessly enthusiastic about stuff that happened all the time
Endlessly enthusiastic about stuff that will probably happen all the time
"You weren't playing with the Band!' she screamed
by Paul Nachbar
"You weren't playing with the Band!' she screamed
What they found good and true and normal and real
Which oddly enough bothered him utterly in his day
Was simply playing the same song a hundred other million people were playing
And shouting' How very unique! or 'that is US!" or 'hip hip hooray!'
If this was a song that a hundred million people could not follow
Or that two billion people would not easily understand
There seemed to be an almost unspoken agreement
That it would be punished or banished from the Land.
This they found great and fine and bold and terrific
Dreading the so called complex, decadent, discordant and obscure
Some Dynamic theme in a Major key endlessly repeated
Which stirred one's great ambitions to always endure
Some mighty tune of Country, Love and Empire
Some catchy song of God and Truth and Soul
Not too complex, one folks could always hum to
Where everyone could quickly learn their role.
He somehow felt no Great Ambition
His crime: "Not playing with the Band!"
He often listened to the Wasteland Music
Or things that were in many places banned
Oh why did people always act like armies?
Oh why were they so often at their wars?
And why their narrow range of feelings?
And why were they forever slamming doors?
What they found good and true and real and normal
He found benevolent dictatorship at best:
They pummelled strangers into Order
Or said "I just don't get it! Take a rest!"
Some lullabies for the New King's daughter
Or jolly dances for the President
Most other stuff some "chic ' disorder
Whether "Hell" or "Heaven" sent.
Ah how to put it all together?
The pieces here that really did not fit?
Majoriities emboldened, not quite 'honest'
And no one cared a single bit
Minorities half hidden in some Corner
This seemed the way it always was
Woe to the longterm bereaved mourner
Woe to the drifting detached social fuzz.
What they found good and true and real and normal
Each person called himself "the Judge"
The World itself a mighty boulder
One could not expect to ever budge
Best here to smile though all this Process
Although your mind or heart had turned to fudge
And Answer just how everyone had answered
Some Police are always there to give a nudge.
He found it odd there was not much merely 'human'
And what was there did not fill him with joy:
The Police preferred you when 'forgetful'
Some 'social facts' often annoy:
The Police said "certain stuff should be erased"
"We want your talent, musi,c art
But not if some of us end up disgraced
Or if your truths blow us apart":
He found it odd there was not much 'human'
And what was there was filled with pain:
The Criminals too had their Opinions
And also families to support
Who'd want to end up feeling too much?
When shooting folks or screwing with the court?
Perhaps best here to be 'respectful'
In one's Complete Human Report.
He did in fact see the whole picture
Had mastered every social game
No one all villain or all hero
And most both innocent also to blame
And all of it was very stupid
And all of it was very smart
And all of it was rather brutal
Though even brutal folks possess a heart
He did in fact see the whole picture
Hard to grasp both Trues and Lies
Sometimes the flipside of the same thing:
Myths slice most people down to size:
The World is good,the World is awful:
Some people play beyond the Band
Now, how to get THAT all together?
No, no one else could understand..
"You weren't playing with the Band!' she screamed
What they found good and true and normal and real
Which oddly enough bothered him utterly in his day
Was simply playing the same song a hundred other million people were playing
And shouting' How very unique! or 'that is US!" or 'hip hip hooray!'
If this was a song that a hundred million people could not follow
Or that two billion people would not easily understand
There seemed to be an almost unspoken agreement
That it would be punished or banished from the Land.
This they found great and fine and bold and terrific
Dreading the so called complex, decadent, discordant and obscure
Some Dynamic theme in a Major key endlessly repeated
Which stirred one's great ambitions to always endure
Some mighty tune of Country, Love and Empire
Some catchy song of God and Truth and Soul
Not too complex, one folks could always hum to
Where everyone could quickly learn their role.
He somehow felt no Great Ambition
His crime: "Not playing with the Band!"
He often listened to the Wasteland Music
Or things that were in many places banned
Oh why did people always act like armies?
Oh why were they so often at their wars?
And why their narrow range of feelings?
And why were they forever slamming doors?
What they found good and true and real and normal
He found benevolent dictatorship at best:
They pummelled strangers into Order
Or said "I just don't get it! Take a rest!"
Some lullabies for the New King's daughter
Or jolly dances for the President
Most other stuff some "chic ' disorder
Whether "Hell" or "Heaven" sent.
Ah how to put it all together?
The pieces here that really did not fit?
Majoriities emboldened, not quite 'honest'
And no one cared a single bit
Minorities half hidden in some Corner
This seemed the way it always was
Woe to the longterm bereaved mourner
Woe to the drifting detached social fuzz.
What they found good and true and real and normal
Each person called himself "the Judge"
The World itself a mighty boulder
One could not expect to ever budge
Best here to smile though all this Process
Although your mind or heart had turned to fudge
And Answer just how everyone had answered
Some Police are always there to give a nudge.
He found it odd there was not much merely 'human'
And what was there did not fill him with joy:
The Police preferred you when 'forgetful'
Some 'social facts' often annoy:
The Police said "certain stuff should be erased"
"We want your talent, musi,c art
But not if some of us end up disgraced
Or if your truths blow us apart":
He found it odd there was not much 'human'
And what was there was filled with pain:
The Criminals too had their Opinions
And also families to support
Who'd want to end up feeling too much?
When shooting folks or screwing with the court?
Perhaps best here to be 'respectful'
In one's Complete Human Report.
He did in fact see the whole picture
Had mastered every social game
No one all villain or all hero
And most both innocent also to blame
And all of it was very stupid
And all of it was very smart
And all of it was rather brutal
Though even brutal folks possess a heart
He did in fact see the whole picture
Hard to grasp both Trues and Lies
Sometimes the flipside of the same thing:
Myths slice most people down to size:
The World is good,the World is awful:
Some people play beyond the Band
Now, how to get THAT all together?
No, no one else could understand..
On Justice
by Paul Nachbar
After the verdict in the Zimmerman case there have been or so I'm told waves of protest in my area and in Manhattan, an hour away from here by
train. Since I have not been well and do not wish to be any sort of martyr
to any cause, I slept the whole day. Why should I stick my head out and be
an advocate for Zimmerman or Trayvon Martin the deceased? Why should I talk about or theorize about or hope for what I would regard as justice,
when people get their heads blown off for less? Or squashed and trampled
by some organized or disorganized, high status or low status, and above
all else opinionated mob, legal or not, legitimate or not, propertied or not,
politically correct or not.historically correct or not
I am a minority in my town, a Jewish man who does explicitly NOT
believe in the local religions and is often very moody or so they tell me
or even angry? I am not to quote some not absolutely objective observers
of my behavior several years ago 'playing the Jewish card": a remark made
by a Canadian man with probably a one in a million IQ who came from social circumstances rougher than mine and thought I looked down on him
No if i am playing cards at all am playing the Human Card..
It is not easy being of a demographic minority where one is deemed the odd man out or an eccentric or worse. It is not easy being of a demographic majority so called Despite some rumors of science and progress and
civilization and charity and mercy that I have picked up on. not to speak of the positive perhaps sides of what most here call faith, i have had a rough time. If this were a planet filled with Paul Stuart Nachbar Jrs and Pauline
Stuart Nachbar Jrs it would be another matter. Everybody would be perceived to be "like" me not 'different". But it is not. If you look this up
On google. you will see I am the only Paul Stuart Nachbar in the world.
Ah so what? Okay the last name, though I am jewish means neighbor.
We are all neighbors on this planet all 7.4 billion of us. and all need to
get along without tearing each other to pieces
.I cannot make a judicial ruling here, laciking that authority. I cannot make a legislative action, becuase I lack such authority too. Nor can I make an executive decision of any kind, as I also lack a popular mandate for such
I can appeal though, as somebody whom society pushed around and
badgered and bothered and tormented until he, contrary to his real
and original born nature, became a hater, not a lover, appeal to everybody
s human side black and white rich and poor male and female Jewish and gentile, atheist and theist straight and gay and everything in between.
Of course too I do not have the legal authority of a medical doctor or a licensed mental health professional. I am as the author of some not very well recieved books of poems, really in a vulnerable low status unprotected position.
People read about a war or a battle or an election or a competion or a contest or a divorce or a disaster or a revolution or a political reaction or a ball game to see who lost and who won. They will express their so called Opinions here or Points of View based on who and what they identify with
most among the fairly wide set of all human possibilities, not necessarily
what is Real or True or Objective or best for everybody.And maybe I can never change this in the smallest way or maybe seeking to change it is what is doing me in.
I am a neighbor of yours. I am innocent. I am in pain. I express myself
well but nobody has cared,. They cared about their own ideas, their own perceptions, their own wants and needs and their own belief systems of one kind or another far more than my agony. I am not and have never been self destructive, though I assented to that "necessary" lie to protect my not absolutely innocent family this not absolutely innocent agency, The Mental Health Association of Nassau County Long Island and my not always innocent treatment providers and friends. As somebody who really minus any so called real deviance or eccentricity, just does not fit in with the majority views. their blackness and their whiteness, brownnness, pinkness
And purplesness or greenness all of you fine folks, liberals, conservatives,
Radicals and even the indifferetn have pretty much proven to be the
Aggessors in my life..including but not limited to my family.
I am going to attempt not to hate you all. By many moral codes that
are active in this world, used in the present and are not a part of the so called past, which some of your psychological propagandists claim I 'dwell on excessively" you in part or all deserve the worst from me, even if all licensed judges would disapprove.Ha what is the Law? In my childhood
Days when many states in the US made intermarriage an black voting
Illegal, among many other things, the Ku Klux Klan and the conservatives
Of those days had every politician in their pockets. DO they get justice
When they liberate things? Nah Kind of the reverse. In one if you are
Black you aree always on the bottom and if you are white you are always On top. In the other Black should Always be on top and white perhaps on the Bottom or in iffy and nervous and anxious pairings
The scientist in me says this is retarded. The humanist wants to write big thick books of new rules The poet in me or artist wants to jump out the
Windows. because theyare all jealous of our superior morality and suiperior sexuality and sensitivity anyway..not to speak of all those IQ point
And Eq points THEY lack.
At their worst, which is far more often than you think, the human race acts like bunch of murderous multicolored hamsters with or without
Guns, knives, vials of poison, killing machines, tasers or the various
Not very well defined weapons possessed by the whole slew of licensed
Authorities in society from truant officers and kindergaden teachers to
Deans of Harvard Graduate School of arts and Sciences to the Presidenst
And way 'over there' Kings, Queens, Princes, other types of leaders
So with Great Love, not Tough Love I profoundly wish all you 7.4 billion
Agitated and politicized and murderous and vengeful and certainly almost
Always 'correct' souls woudl just please shut up, stop your opining
About legal cases you do not understand, stop making laws that are
Asinine, not to speak of all that 'advice' and 'suggestions' you give me
Stop torturing each other and stop lying about this , stop killing in one
Way or another, even yourselves, stop all the fucking politics and work
And protest or caving in and just relax.. and let ME be.
After the verdict in the Zimmerman case there have been or so I'm told waves of protest in my area and in Manhattan, an hour away from here by
train. Since I have not been well and do not wish to be any sort of martyr
to any cause, I slept the whole day. Why should I stick my head out and be
an advocate for Zimmerman or Trayvon Martin the deceased? Why should I talk about or theorize about or hope for what I would regard as justice,
when people get their heads blown off for less? Or squashed and trampled
by some organized or disorganized, high status or low status, and above
all else opinionated mob, legal or not, legitimate or not, propertied or not,
politically correct or not.historically correct or not
I am a minority in my town, a Jewish man who does explicitly NOT
believe in the local religions and is often very moody or so they tell me
or even angry? I am not to quote some not absolutely objective observers
of my behavior several years ago 'playing the Jewish card": a remark made
by a Canadian man with probably a one in a million IQ who came from social circumstances rougher than mine and thought I looked down on him
No if i am playing cards at all am playing the Human Card..
It is not easy being of a demographic minority where one is deemed the odd man out or an eccentric or worse. It is not easy being of a demographic majority so called Despite some rumors of science and progress and
civilization and charity and mercy that I have picked up on. not to speak of the positive perhaps sides of what most here call faith, i have had a rough time. If this were a planet filled with Paul Stuart Nachbar Jrs and Pauline
Stuart Nachbar Jrs it would be another matter. Everybody would be perceived to be "like" me not 'different". But it is not. If you look this up
On google. you will see I am the only Paul Stuart Nachbar in the world.
Ah so what? Okay the last name, though I am jewish means neighbor.
We are all neighbors on this planet all 7.4 billion of us. and all need to
get along without tearing each other to pieces
.I cannot make a judicial ruling here, laciking that authority. I cannot make a legislative action, becuase I lack such authority too. Nor can I make an executive decision of any kind, as I also lack a popular mandate for such
I can appeal though, as somebody whom society pushed around and
badgered and bothered and tormented until he, contrary to his real
and original born nature, became a hater, not a lover, appeal to everybody
s human side black and white rich and poor male and female Jewish and gentile, atheist and theist straight and gay and everything in between.
Of course too I do not have the legal authority of a medical doctor or a licensed mental health professional. I am as the author of some not very well recieved books of poems, really in a vulnerable low status unprotected position.
People read about a war or a battle or an election or a competion or a contest or a divorce or a disaster or a revolution or a political reaction or a ball game to see who lost and who won. They will express their so called Opinions here or Points of View based on who and what they identify with
most among the fairly wide set of all human possibilities, not necessarily
what is Real or True or Objective or best for everybody.And maybe I can never change this in the smallest way or maybe seeking to change it is what is doing me in.
I am a neighbor of yours. I am innocent. I am in pain. I express myself
well but nobody has cared,. They cared about their own ideas, their own perceptions, their own wants and needs and their own belief systems of one kind or another far more than my agony. I am not and have never been self destructive, though I assented to that "necessary" lie to protect my not absolutely innocent family this not absolutely innocent agency, The Mental Health Association of Nassau County Long Island and my not always innocent treatment providers and friends. As somebody who really minus any so called real deviance or eccentricity, just does not fit in with the majority views. their blackness and their whiteness, brownnness, pinkness
And purplesness or greenness all of you fine folks, liberals, conservatives,
Radicals and even the indifferetn have pretty much proven to be the
Aggessors in my life..including but not limited to my family.
I am going to attempt not to hate you all. By many moral codes that
are active in this world, used in the present and are not a part of the so called past, which some of your psychological propagandists claim I 'dwell on excessively" you in part or all deserve the worst from me, even if all licensed judges would disapprove.Ha what is the Law? In my childhood
Days when many states in the US made intermarriage an black voting
Illegal, among many other things, the Ku Klux Klan and the conservatives
Of those days had every politician in their pockets. DO they get justice
When they liberate things? Nah Kind of the reverse. In one if you are
Black you aree always on the bottom and if you are white you are always On top. In the other Black should Always be on top and white perhaps on the Bottom or in iffy and nervous and anxious pairings
The scientist in me says this is retarded. The humanist wants to write big thick books of new rules The poet in me or artist wants to jump out the
Windows. because theyare all jealous of our superior morality and suiperior sexuality and sensitivity anyway..not to speak of all those IQ point
And Eq points THEY lack.
At their worst, which is far more often than you think, the human race acts like bunch of murderous multicolored hamsters with or without
Guns, knives, vials of poison, killing machines, tasers or the various
Not very well defined weapons possessed by the whole slew of licensed
Authorities in society from truant officers and kindergaden teachers to
Deans of Harvard Graduate School of arts and Sciences to the Presidenst
And way 'over there' Kings, Queens, Princes, other types of leaders
So with Great Love, not Tough Love I profoundly wish all you 7.4 billion
Agitated and politicized and murderous and vengeful and certainly almost
Always 'correct' souls woudl just please shut up, stop your opining
About legal cases you do not understand, stop making laws that are
Asinine, not to speak of all that 'advice' and 'suggestions' you give me
Stop torturing each other and stop lying about this , stop killing in one
Way or another, even yourselves, stop all the fucking politics and work
And protest or caving in and just relax.. and let ME be.
Me to You
by Richard Creveling
using time during a Sunday afternoon . . . .
Me to You
Gently, a voice
soft and sincere
recalled to me perfumed petals in flowered fields;
And Spring's foals followed Nature's complaisant direction,
smoothly exhibiting grace and continuity
in their contentment.
My existence has realized solidarity
of purpose; sincerity,
offered by all that is real, and
everything of splendor that I can dream.
My soul is warmed by Sun's rays,
and roses
painted by angels
whispering color to Life.
All of this is given
only
for the pleasure of those who are able
to think
like thoughts of gentleness and honor
that led
me to you.
using time during a Sunday afternoon . . . .
Me to You
Gently, a voice
soft and sincere
recalled to me perfumed petals in flowered fields;
And Spring's foals followed Nature's complaisant direction,
smoothly exhibiting grace and continuity
in their contentment.
My existence has realized solidarity
of purpose; sincerity,
offered by all that is real, and
everything of splendor that I can dream.
My soul is warmed by Sun's rays,
and roses
painted by angels
whispering color to Life.
All of this is given
only
for the pleasure of those who are able
to think
like thoughts of gentleness and honor
that led
me to you.
Dear Child
by Asana Liana
Dear Child, Dear Love: You highlight my life with the glittering chimes of
Innocence, the purity of Heart, and the clarity of Mind that only a child could
unknowingly set ablaze.
As I view the landscape of my Life, your inspirational sparkles appear, shining and
lovely, grand yet humble in some unexpected, enigmatic fashion.
I cannot imagine a more beautiful power, a farther-reaching positivity, or a more
brilliant addition to the landscape of the brief moment of this limited time alive on
the earth.
I see you, far ahead in time, strong and tall, deep and wise, playful, joyful,
wondrous and as free as you need to be; the Sequoia I have always known you
would be.
I offer you, always, my love and guidance; eternally, internally, inextricably
embedded in your heart and mind; you can ever draw upon that which I have so
consciously caressed into your experience as a gentle soul growing softly yet
powerfully.
I truly love you with all that I am and all that I have within me, including that which
seems to have sprung anew due to your presence and my need to engender the
best and brightest in you; I believe in you and the best of my love will forever be
available to your heart.
Dear Child, Dear Love: You highlight my life with the glittering chimes of
Innocence, the purity of Heart, and the clarity of Mind that only a child could
unknowingly set ablaze.
As I view the landscape of my Life, your inspirational sparkles appear, shining and
lovely, grand yet humble in some unexpected, enigmatic fashion.
I cannot imagine a more beautiful power, a farther-reaching positivity, or a more
brilliant addition to the landscape of the brief moment of this limited time alive on
the earth.
I see you, far ahead in time, strong and tall, deep and wise, playful, joyful,
wondrous and as free as you need to be; the Sequoia I have always known you
would be.
I offer you, always, my love and guidance; eternally, internally, inextricably
embedded in your heart and mind; you can ever draw upon that which I have so
consciously caressed into your experience as a gentle soul growing softly yet
powerfully.
I truly love you with all that I am and all that I have within me, including that which
seems to have sprung anew due to your presence and my need to engender the
best and brightest in you; I believe in you and the best of my love will forever be
available to your heart.
Popularity Contests Among the Peasants
by Paul Nachbar
Popularity contests among peasants
Peasants middle, high and low
Fishing, farming , hunting pheasants:
This is all there is, you know.
If most peasants seem to like you
Then its clear you'll do quite well
If most peasants do not like you
Most of them will give you hell.
Peasants each are always different
Each a person mid the rest:
Though they tend to from large groupings
Striving here to see who's worst or best.
Sometimes folks are very humble
Sometimes too they get quite grand
Sometimes large folks trip or stumble
Or small folks can't "understand".
Popularity contest among peasants
Sometimes rules are rather strict
Merely 'winning' can be pleasant
Or else the side effects make people sick.
Popularity contests among peasants
Losing almost always feels quite bad
Once in centuries a good thing
Beyond the wisdom of your Mom and Dad.
Popularity contests among peasants
Some seem 'good' and some seem 'bad:
Each has stories that they tell you
All families, Mom and Dad.
Popularity contests among peasants
What of all here will Endure:
What is valuable or worthless
What is rotten, what is pure?
Here there are few perfect peasants
Some proclaim there's none at all:
Deep down not positive of answers
I only know my name is Paul.
Here there are just only peasants
Peasants middle high and low:
All of them deep down 'good people"
Some stuff dangerous to know.
If the world were always perfect
I guess that I'd be perfect too:
Things which hurt me were not perfect
I seek to make a few things new.
New of course is never perfect
One must balance it with old:
Just as when one's painting pictures
There are warm colors and cold
None of course is always clever
None of course is always good:
Though I rarely proclaim "never"
In this or any neighborhood.
Here there are just only peasants
I am but a peasant too:
Sick and healthy like a peasant
Going where the peasants go.
Here there are just only peasants
Some are poor and some are rich
Some are homely, some are pretty
Some discrete and some will snitch.
I, late bloomer among peasants
No prodigy of any kind
Perhaps 'potential' somewhat wasted?
I mostly strive here to be kind.
Being most like t other peasants
I rarely reach my own Ideal
That i think is human nature
And I balance this with Real.
Popularity contests among peasants
I rarely win a single race
Sometimes in races am the Last One
Which is a relief or disgrace.
Popularity contests among peasants
Behind the middle, high and low:
No single person just an island
Some conflicts make the whole thing go.
Some race for love and some for money
Some race for nothing much at all
Some race for God or else for honey:
I race to see "who is this Paul? "
Some race for God, some race for country
Some race for good, some race for bad
I think all goals are quite entangled
Which makes me happy and not sad.
Sometimes contented by this world here
Sometimes "confessing" I am not:
A mix I think of good and bad stuff:
This world, the only one we've got.
I guess I too race here for friendship
And for the many hues of love
And for whatever forces
Both side to side, below, above.
With crazed ambition like all people
Who end up last to be the first
And getting there to be most gentle
To folks both blessed and folks cursed.
I didn't choose these situations
These situations all chose me
And with Complete Explanation
I think I finally "agree"
Although this world is often nasty
And bad and mean and quite a mess:
I do no longer utter "No' here
But finally proclaim "well, Yes.."
And if this world is mere illusion
All words but howlings in the dark
Some make more tuneful "my" confusion
And in the darkness light a spark.
Some people say this does not matter
Its all just nonsense in the dust
It could be that I'm merely stupid
But in this life I sometimes trust
And if i do sink down in darkness
In darkness sometimes not alone:
All things at end devoured by darkness
Perhaps one's happy if one shone?
A mixture here i guess of stupid
And good and bad and also smart
And too vast quantities of Nothing
That is that odd thing i call "art"
Beyond horizons mainly nothing
And nothingness produces pain
One whips up something out of nothing
And then it all falls down again.
Beyond horizons mainly silence
And place where there are no sounds
No forms, no ideas and no stories
Cold nothingness beyond all bounds.
If we here are all next to nothing
And in such nothingness we finally drown
I play my own small absurd role here
Seven billion peasants in this town.
.
Popularity contests amid the peasants
Best not suffer absolute defeat
In rich countries, you get table scraps
In other places, nought to eat.
Popularity contests among peasants
Peasants middle, high and low
Farming, fishing, hunting pheasants:
This is all there is, you know.
Popularity contests among peasants
Peasants middle, high and low
Fishing, farming , hunting pheasants:
This is all there is, you know.
If most peasants seem to like you
Then its clear you'll do quite well
If most peasants do not like you
Most of them will give you hell.
Peasants each are always different
Each a person mid the rest:
Though they tend to from large groupings
Striving here to see who's worst or best.
Sometimes folks are very humble
Sometimes too they get quite grand
Sometimes large folks trip or stumble
Or small folks can't "understand".
Popularity contest among peasants
Sometimes rules are rather strict
Merely 'winning' can be pleasant
Or else the side effects make people sick.
Popularity contests among peasants
Losing almost always feels quite bad
Once in centuries a good thing
Beyond the wisdom of your Mom and Dad.
Popularity contests among peasants
Some seem 'good' and some seem 'bad:
Each has stories that they tell you
All families, Mom and Dad.
Popularity contests among peasants
What of all here will Endure:
What is valuable or worthless
What is rotten, what is pure?
Here there are few perfect peasants
Some proclaim there's none at all:
Deep down not positive of answers
I only know my name is Paul.
Here there are just only peasants
Peasants middle high and low:
All of them deep down 'good people"
Some stuff dangerous to know.
If the world were always perfect
I guess that I'd be perfect too:
Things which hurt me were not perfect
I seek to make a few things new.
New of course is never perfect
One must balance it with old:
Just as when one's painting pictures
There are warm colors and cold
None of course is always clever
None of course is always good:
Though I rarely proclaim "never"
In this or any neighborhood.
Here there are just only peasants
I am but a peasant too:
Sick and healthy like a peasant
Going where the peasants go.
Here there are just only peasants
Some are poor and some are rich
Some are homely, some are pretty
Some discrete and some will snitch.
I, late bloomer among peasants
No prodigy of any kind
Perhaps 'potential' somewhat wasted?
I mostly strive here to be kind.
Being most like t other peasants
I rarely reach my own Ideal
That i think is human nature
And I balance this with Real.
Popularity contests among peasants
I rarely win a single race
Sometimes in races am the Last One
Which is a relief or disgrace.
Popularity contests among peasants
Behind the middle, high and low:
No single person just an island
Some conflicts make the whole thing go.
Some race for love and some for money
Some race for nothing much at all
Some race for God or else for honey:
I race to see "who is this Paul? "
Some race for God, some race for country
Some race for good, some race for bad
I think all goals are quite entangled
Which makes me happy and not sad.
Sometimes contented by this world here
Sometimes "confessing" I am not:
A mix I think of good and bad stuff:
This world, the only one we've got.
I guess I too race here for friendship
And for the many hues of love
And for whatever forces
Both side to side, below, above.
With crazed ambition like all people
Who end up last to be the first
And getting there to be most gentle
To folks both blessed and folks cursed.
I didn't choose these situations
These situations all chose me
And with Complete Explanation
I think I finally "agree"
Although this world is often nasty
And bad and mean and quite a mess:
I do no longer utter "No' here
But finally proclaim "well, Yes.."
And if this world is mere illusion
All words but howlings in the dark
Some make more tuneful "my" confusion
And in the darkness light a spark.
Some people say this does not matter
Its all just nonsense in the dust
It could be that I'm merely stupid
But in this life I sometimes trust
And if i do sink down in darkness
In darkness sometimes not alone:
All things at end devoured by darkness
Perhaps one's happy if one shone?
A mixture here i guess of stupid
And good and bad and also smart
And too vast quantities of Nothing
That is that odd thing i call "art"
Beyond horizons mainly nothing
And nothingness produces pain
One whips up something out of nothing
And then it all falls down again.
Beyond horizons mainly silence
And place where there are no sounds
No forms, no ideas and no stories
Cold nothingness beyond all bounds.
If we here are all next to nothing
And in such nothingness we finally drown
I play my own small absurd role here
Seven billion peasants in this town.
.
Popularity contests amid the peasants
Best not suffer absolute defeat
In rich countries, you get table scraps
In other places, nought to eat.
Popularity contests among peasants
Peasants middle, high and low
Farming, fishing, hunting pheasants:
This is all there is, you know.
Oh All My Peoples. oh All My Peoples.
by Paul Nachbar
I am just a person
No more no less
You are just a person too.
I was always just a person
No more no less
You were always just a person too.
Sometimes in our being persons together
We got along perfectly:
Other times we were far less clever.
I will always be just a person
No more no less
You will always be just a person too.
Between us happens all those things
No more no less
That can happen between a person and a person.
Between us happens all those things
No more no less
That should happen between a person and a person.
Between us happens all those things
No more no less
That should not happen between a person and a person.
What do we do? What did we always do?
What do almost always tend to do?
When anything goes remotely wrong between a person and a person?
We summon up those catalogues of phrases
We summon up those catalgues of gestures:
Those catalogues of laudatory and condemnatory phrases and gestures.
We judge such from those catalogues of phrases
We judge such from such catalogues of gestures
We judge partly from such catalogues the largest and smallest phrases and gestures.
We judged from those catalogues of phrases
We judged from those catalogues of gestures
We judged from such catalogues the largest and smallest gestures and phrases..
Ah what next?
What is there left to say?
Five women said to me "shall i compare thee to a summer's day?"
Oh all my peoples, all my peoples:
Oh all my peoples of the past, all my peoples of the present
All my peoples of the future who may or may not be:
I am just a person
No more no less
You are just a person too
I am just a person
No more no less
You are just a person too.
I was always just a person
No more no less
You were always just a person too.
Sometimes in our being persons together
We got along perfectly:
Other times we were far less clever.
I will always be just a person
No more no less
You will always be just a person too.
Between us happens all those things
No more no less
That can happen between a person and a person.
Between us happens all those things
No more no less
That should happen between a person and a person.
Between us happens all those things
No more no less
That should not happen between a person and a person.
What do we do? What did we always do?
What do almost always tend to do?
When anything goes remotely wrong between a person and a person?
We summon up those catalogues of phrases
We summon up those catalgues of gestures:
Those catalogues of laudatory and condemnatory phrases and gestures.
We judge such from those catalogues of phrases
We judge such from such catalogues of gestures
We judge partly from such catalogues the largest and smallest phrases and gestures.
We judged from those catalogues of phrases
We judged from those catalogues of gestures
We judged from such catalogues the largest and smallest gestures and phrases..
Ah what next?
What is there left to say?
Five women said to me "shall i compare thee to a summer's day?"
Oh all my peoples, all my peoples:
Oh all my peoples of the past, all my peoples of the present
All my peoples of the future who may or may not be:
I am just a person
No more no less
You are just a person too
Thursday, February 27, 2014
And Who's Who to Judge Me, You, Him Her Us Them or Bobby McGee?
by Paul Nachbar
And who is really there who is fully competent to judge anyone for anything?
And with what transcendent, time honored, elite or democratic
Credentials or expertise or authority are they capable of objectively and fairly doing such in and place and time?
Somebody's mother, somebody's father?
Somebody's wife, somebody's husband
Somebody's mistress gigolo sex slave whore fiancee spouse
Somebody's daughter , somebody's son?
Somebody's granddaughter or somebody's grandson?
Somebody's great grand daughter or somebody's great grandson?
Somebody's brother somebody's sister
Somebody's uncle or aunt or great uncle or aunt
Somebody's niece or nephew
Somebody's cousins first, second or beyond that, however much removed.
Somebody with zero shares of stock in The Company or perhaps
Somebody with a hundred million shares of stock in The Company?
Somebody's boss, somebody's manager, somebody's caretaker,
Somebody's doctor, somebody's nurse, somebody's therapist,...
Somebody's "friend" or friend? Somebody's teacher, somebody's
Superior officer, somebody's advisor......somebody's co worker,
Somebody's attorney, somebody's subordinate..
Somebody who is a carbon based life form or somebody who is a silicon
based life form a mixture or the two or other?
A medical doctor or scientist of any merit could trace this one back or forward in space and time with virtuousity
Emphasizing the uracil and guanine and adenine and thiamine
And ignoring the emotionality and sentimentality
What people imagined, feared, hoped for, dreamed, read about,
Considered, acted upon, believed, said and thought
Or whatever shards or shreds we have for what was said or thought or felt
Or done. and how that was evaluated.
The battles from the smallest to the largest which were fought about
The different evidence, points of view
What at times they lived and died for.
Although despite all seeming imperfections you may see in me, and the trillion trillion
Trillion trillion trillion that I also find in myself - I was honored
By my cousin Phillip back in the early 1980's with the title of godfather
To his baby daughter who since then has grown and become a woman
A teacher a person in her own right.
No contract written down you understand, just a promise:
If anything happened, i would take care of the daughter
Or should I say in some measure the daughters and the sons...?
I will honor that.
Paul the Godfather
And who is really there who is fully competent to judge anyone for anything?
And with what transcendent, time honored, elite or democratic
Credentials or expertise or authority are they capable of objectively and fairly doing such in and place and time?
Somebody's mother, somebody's father?
Somebody's wife, somebody's husband
Somebody's mistress gigolo sex slave whore fiancee spouse
Somebody's daughter , somebody's son?
Somebody's granddaughter or somebody's grandson?
Somebody's great grand daughter or somebody's great grandson?
Somebody's brother somebody's sister
Somebody's uncle or aunt or great uncle or aunt
Somebody's niece or nephew
Somebody's cousins first, second or beyond that, however much removed.
Somebody with zero shares of stock in The Company or perhaps
Somebody with a hundred million shares of stock in The Company?
Somebody's boss, somebody's manager, somebody's caretaker,
Somebody's doctor, somebody's nurse, somebody's therapist,...
Somebody's "friend" or friend? Somebody's teacher, somebody's
Superior officer, somebody's advisor......somebody's co worker,
Somebody's attorney, somebody's subordinate..
Somebody who is a carbon based life form or somebody who is a silicon
based life form a mixture or the two or other?
A medical doctor or scientist of any merit could trace this one back or forward in space and time with virtuousity
Emphasizing the uracil and guanine and adenine and thiamine
And ignoring the emotionality and sentimentality
What people imagined, feared, hoped for, dreamed, read about,
Considered, acted upon, believed, said and thought
Or whatever shards or shreds we have for what was said or thought or felt
Or done. and how that was evaluated.
The battles from the smallest to the largest which were fought about
The different evidence, points of view
What at times they lived and died for.
Although despite all seeming imperfections you may see in me, and the trillion trillion
Trillion trillion trillion that I also find in myself - I was honored
By my cousin Phillip back in the early 1980's with the title of godfather
To his baby daughter who since then has grown and become a woman
A teacher a person in her own right.
No contract written down you understand, just a promise:
If anything happened, i would take care of the daughter
Or should I say in some measure the daughters and the sons...?
I will honor that.
Paul the Godfather
Idealism so called Revisited
by Paul Nachbar
What are their ways?
The ways of the households?
You can talk true justice for a half an hour
And everybody knows that
But then you get exhausted from the strain
Of being too much yourself and too little them.
You get the barracks ways
You get the henhouse ways
You want much more than that?
You get the jealous ways
And then you get exhausted from the strain.
Of seeking something higher than that in the emotional range.
You get such and such a barracks
Which hates or loves such and such another barracks
Or hates or loves such and such another henhouse
And such and such a henhouse with its communal perceptions
And traditional ways of assessing who gets what down to the
Tiniest reward or punishment
This is the way it is anywhere you go
This is the way it was anywhere you went
Maybe this is the way it will be anywhere you go
If with luck and work and nature and nurture i am
A centimeter taller than the others, they can easily drag you back down
All the way down to the vast majority, perhaps, however they really feel about you
This is what it is all built upon:
The gangs, the fraternities, the faculties, the staffs,the clubs
The businesses the households, the institutions, the laws
And local customs whether they are sane and good or insane and bad
Since I am way way too exhausted to say more I will just grin a tired
Idiotic grin and curl up, lay down, doze off to never someday land.
What are their ways?
The ways of the households?
You can talk true justice for a half an hour
And everybody knows that
But then you get exhausted from the strain
Of being too much yourself and too little them.
You get the barracks ways
You get the henhouse ways
You want much more than that?
You get the jealous ways
And then you get exhausted from the strain.
Of seeking something higher than that in the emotional range.
You get such and such a barracks
Which hates or loves such and such another barracks
Or hates or loves such and such another henhouse
And such and such a henhouse with its communal perceptions
And traditional ways of assessing who gets what down to the
Tiniest reward or punishment
This is the way it is anywhere you go
This is the way it was anywhere you went
Maybe this is the way it will be anywhere you go
If with luck and work and nature and nurture i am
A centimeter taller than the others, they can easily drag you back down
All the way down to the vast majority, perhaps, however they really feel about you
This is what it is all built upon:
The gangs, the fraternities, the faculties, the staffs,the clubs
The businesses the households, the institutions, the laws
And local customs whether they are sane and good or insane and bad
Since I am way way too exhausted to say more I will just grin a tired
Idiotic grin and curl up, lay down, doze off to never someday land.
Untitled
by Dedra Keller
We are all vulnerable to the wastes of time
Susceptible to the influences of stress
Regardless of breadth, depth,
Intelligence of person
We are all vulnerable
We are all vulnerable to the wastes of time
Susceptible to the influences of stress
Regardless of breadth, depth,
Intelligence of person
We are all vulnerable
Today
by Sonja Aiken Struthers
Today I stand in the shower and watch the water
Run down the wreckage that is my body
A body that four months ago was still me
Today I do not know the person in the mirror
There is nothing left there that I recognize
Today I sit to dry what is left of my hair
And wonder why…
The drugs and my Moriarty will take this as well
Today I look at the face of my husband and I am torn between overwhelming guilt and gratitude
So pale…dark shadows beneath his eyes; belying the cheerful voice and fear I know fills his heart
Trying to do everything while assuring me it is not too much, the cost not too high
I weep because I know that it is
Today I went outside into my garden to trim the dead flowers from my roses
Desperate for a sense of normalcy
Hoping I will see them bloom again
Today my beautiful dogs lay their noble heads in my lap to comfort me
My steadfast guardians
They lick the tears from my face and know I am still Mom
Today I consider my options
Hope is elsewhere
Today, I am not brave
©Sonja L. Struthers 7.29.13
Today I stand in the shower and watch the water
Run down the wreckage that is my body
A body that four months ago was still me
Today I do not know the person in the mirror
There is nothing left there that I recognize
Today I sit to dry what is left of my hair
And wonder why…
The drugs and my Moriarty will take this as well
Today I look at the face of my husband and I am torn between overwhelming guilt and gratitude
So pale…dark shadows beneath his eyes; belying the cheerful voice and fear I know fills his heart
Trying to do everything while assuring me it is not too much, the cost not too high
I weep because I know that it is
Today I went outside into my garden to trim the dead flowers from my roses
Desperate for a sense of normalcy
Hoping I will see them bloom again
Today my beautiful dogs lay their noble heads in my lap to comfort me
My steadfast guardians
They lick the tears from my face and know I am still Mom
Today I consider my options
Hope is elsewhere
Today, I am not brave
©Sonja L. Struthers 7.29.13
Untitled
by Mike Zielinski
The streams run wild.
It is flood season.
The streams overflow
their banks rearranging
eveything. Nothing is safe.
Houses,cars, mailboxes, and
train tracks, all get moved.
But then I call you at night
And the sound of your voice
Helps the waters recede
And the streams are in
their banks once again
House,cars, and train tracks
Are put back up,
In different places,
Perhaps better places.
The streams run wild.
It is flood season.
The streams overflow
their banks rearranging
eveything. Nothing is safe.
Houses,cars, mailboxes, and
train tracks, all get moved.
But then I call you at night
And the sound of your voice
Helps the waters recede
And the streams are in
their banks once again
House,cars, and train tracks
Are put back up,
In different places,
Perhaps better places.
A Life of War
by Jacquelinne White
My father lived through WW1. He was in the British trenches that famous Christmas when the Germans, in their own trenches only yards away, threw sausages over to the British and the British sent them back plum puddings. Daddy was one of the men who danced on no-man's-land that Christmas Eve. Young and beautiful German men and the young and beautiful Canadians and other British men danced together until each side was called back and told to continue trying to kill one another. My father lived long enough in the trenches to see the hands of the men they had buried in the walls fling off the dirt and stretch out those hands so their still- alive fellow soldiers could shake them going by and send them greetings. He lived through being buried alive for three days, buried under the earth piled up by a bursting bomb. His fellow soldiers found him when there was a "lull", still breathing, talking but not responding to them. Over and over he said," It is Wednesday to-day. It is Wednesday to-day." He had been buried on a Wednesday and tried to keep his sanity by repeating that sentence.
It was one of the first sentences I ever heard and only partially understood. My sisters were one and two years younger than I. We, too young to fully understand, realized Daddy sat down and gripped the arms of his chair when he was under stress. So when we were sad or disappointed we too sat in our chairs, our small chairs, grabbed the seat beneath our bottoms and repeated, "It is Wednesday to-day." We were of course corrected by the maids, our mother, and our much older siblings. When we were a little older and had been trained not express ourselves in that manner we would still hear Daddy so we would hit him on his hands or his knees and say, "No, Daddy. It is not Wednesday," and he would come out of his trance. We did that all through our childhood and our teens and our early twenties, until we left home, and even when we came back to visit we sometimes brought him back to the present by tapping him, stroking his head, being more gentle than we had been as children when we did not fully understand.
He "talked to himself," but it was not really talking to himself. He talked to Alfie. He always said the same thing. " Your mother is coming Alfie. It is going to be fine. Your mother is coming." I questioned him about that when I was perhaps three years old. We lived on a Cree Indian reserve in Saskatchewan. It was a short walk from our home to his office. The walk was on a narrow dirt path through a little poplar woods, beside a willow-rimmed pond, across a little meadow, over a style into the cow yard, across that yard and through a gate to his office in the middle of another meadow. I used to follow, every chance I got, padding along silently behind him, listening to him. I always turned back just before the style because I was afraid of the milling cows. One day when we were almost to the style I startled him by asking, " Who is Alfie?" We sat down on the steps of the style and he told me about Alfie. Nothing he told me made much sense to me but I pondered and I remembered. Before he started he said something about it not being necessary to tell Momma. We were used to having secrets from our mother and we understood why. There might be trouble if she knew our secrets. He then told me about Alfie. He said, "Jacquelinne, he was only sixteen years old. He was wounded and going to die and he kept calling for his mother. He was only sixteen. I thought it would comfort him to think his mother was coming. He was only sixteen when he died, Jacquelinne."
At the age of three or four I could not comprehend sixteen years. Sixteen seemed very very old, maybe about the same as ninety. I think I must have been in my middle teens before I properly understood. Alfie had slipped by the recruiters and had been sent to the trenches with men eighteen years old.
It seems to me I have always known war. I was nineteen in September 1939. Still young when Korea came along. Not old during the Vietnam war, fearful they would draft my grandson in the Gulf War. Now there is war again and others living through the horrors and even worse than the generations before them, unspeakable though those wars were.
Thousands and thousands all over the world are marching and protesting but I also hear people saying, " Turn off the news. Do not think about it. We cannot do anything so why think about it." I have no response for them. I do not criticize them. But it is in me to remember and to cry out. I need to paint it, to write it as artists and writers for all time have done. Guernica. On two magazine covers, The New Yorker and Harpers. Picasso's Guernica. We remember the Spanish artist of 200 hundred years ago who was so explicit in what war looked like. I am so grieved I cannot bring up his name. Most of you know his name I am sure and I too shall in a few moments. I am too stunned to think clearly.
The man's name was Goya. Remember the woman with a bayonet, with a baby in her arms. Remember her victim.
Daddy told another tale: He was sitting, alone, under the only tree left in what had been a small wood. The tree was shorn of leaves, blasted off by the same ammunition that had felled the other trees. It was moonlight. A nightingale flew over and dropped onto one of few branches left on the tree, threw back its head and sang to him.
It was one of the first sentences I ever heard and only partially understood. My sisters were one and two years younger than I. We, too young to fully understand, realized Daddy sat down and gripped the arms of his chair when he was under stress. So when we were sad or disappointed we too sat in our chairs, our small chairs, grabbed the seat beneath our bottoms and repeated, "It is Wednesday to-day." We were of course corrected by the maids, our mother, and our much older siblings. When we were a little older and had been trained not express ourselves in that manner we would still hear Daddy so we would hit him on his hands or his knees and say, "No, Daddy. It is not Wednesday," and he would come out of his trance. We did that all through our childhood and our teens and our early twenties, until we left home, and even when we came back to visit we sometimes brought him back to the present by tapping him, stroking his head, being more gentle than we had been as children when we did not fully understand.
He "talked to himself," but it was not really talking to himself. He talked to Alfie. He always said the same thing. " Your mother is coming Alfie. It is going to be fine. Your mother is coming." I questioned him about that when I was perhaps three years old. We lived on a Cree Indian reserve in Saskatchewan. It was a short walk from our home to his office. The walk was on a narrow dirt path through a little poplar woods, beside a willow-rimmed pond, across a little meadow, over a style into the cow yard, across that yard and through a gate to his office in the middle of another meadow. I used to follow, every chance I got, padding along silently behind him, listening to him. I always turned back just before the style because I was afraid of the milling cows. One day when we were almost to the style I startled him by asking, " Who is Alfie?" We sat down on the steps of the style and he told me about Alfie. Nothing he told me made much sense to me but I pondered and I remembered. Before he started he said something about it not being necessary to tell Momma. We were used to having secrets from our mother and we understood why. There might be trouble if she knew our secrets. He then told me about Alfie. He said, "Jacquelinne, he was only sixteen years old. He was wounded and going to die and he kept calling for his mother. He was only sixteen. I thought it would comfort him to think his mother was coming. He was only sixteen when he died, Jacquelinne."
At the age of three or four I could not comprehend sixteen years. Sixteen seemed very very old, maybe about the same as ninety. I think I must have been in my middle teens before I properly understood. Alfie had slipped by the recruiters and had been sent to the trenches with men eighteen years old.
It seems to me I have always known war. I was nineteen in September 1939. Still young when Korea came along. Not old during the Vietnam war, fearful they would draft my grandson in the Gulf War. Now there is war again and others living through the horrors and even worse than the generations before them, unspeakable though those wars were.
Thousands and thousands all over the world are marching and protesting but I also hear people saying, " Turn off the news. Do not think about it. We cannot do anything so why think about it." I have no response for them. I do not criticize them. But it is in me to remember and to cry out. I need to paint it, to write it as artists and writers for all time have done. Guernica. On two magazine covers, The New Yorker and Harpers. Picasso's Guernica. We remember the Spanish artist of 200 hundred years ago who was so explicit in what war looked like. I am so grieved I cannot bring up his name. Most of you know his name I am sure and I too shall in a few moments. I am too stunned to think clearly.
The man's name was Goya. Remember the woman with a bayonet, with a baby in her arms. Remember her victim.
Daddy told another tale: He was sitting, alone, under the only tree left in what had been a small wood. The tree was shorn of leaves, blasted off by the same ammunition that had felled the other trees. It was moonlight. A nightingale flew over and dropped onto one of few branches left on the tree, threw back its head and sang to him.
Keynote
by Paul Maxim
Albinone wrote fifty-three operas,
none of which survived,
while Beethoven wrote only one,
all of which survived,
including four overtures,
three entr'actes, two intermezzi,
and one horrendous climax,
in which a caste of singers clambers back onstage,
and helps extract the tenor from his queasy cage.
But Rossini, nimble tunesmith,
outdid them all
by writing only half an opera
- called Semiramide* -
about an ancient Babylonian Princess
(or maybe she was just a Quean)
who thought she could reshape the course of history -
but why she thought so still remains a mystery.
Now, had that tunester only written
one whole Ramide
- it might have seemed a trifle overlong,
- it might have lacked a dance to fleshify its song,
but still most likely it would not have made him smirk
(as rumor swears he did):
"Half an opera she is better than none,
and mine have coined more lira than yours
have ever done!'
Albinone wrote fifty-three operas,
none of which survived,
while Beethoven wrote only one,
all of which survived,
including four overtures,
three entr'actes, two intermezzi,
and one horrendous climax,
in which a caste of singers clambers back onstage,
and helps extract the tenor from his queasy cage.
But Rossini, nimble tunesmith,
outdid them all
by writing only half an opera
- called Semiramide* -
about an ancient Babylonian Princess
(or maybe she was just a Quean)
who thought she could reshape the course of history -
but why she thought so still remains a mystery.
Now, had that tunester only written
one whole Ramide
- it might have seemed a trifle overlong,
- it might have lacked a dance to fleshify its song,
but still most likely it would not have made him smirk
(as rumor swears he did):
"Half an opera she is better than none,
and mine have coined more lira than yours
have ever done!'
Da Capo
by Grady Towers
I wanted to know if it was possible to cross a human being with a chimpanzee and obtain a viable offspring. I knew of course that man has 46 chromosomes and the chimpanzee, like the other great apes, has 48. But I also knew that the horse has 64 chromosomes and the ass has 62 and they can still be crossed to produce a mule with 63. That implied that a difference in chromosome compliment might not be the barrier to breeding that it first appeared to be. I also knew that the DNA sequences of man and chimpanzee were identical at 99 out of 100 base pairs. The possibilities for a viable cross, therefore, looked reasonably good - good enough at any rate to justify spending some time in a library researching the matter.
At first I considered trying to find out if anyone had actually carried out such an experiment. Mankind's sexual propensities being what they are, I wouldn't have been surprised; there's a good reason for syphilis being named for a mythological shepherd. But I finally discarded this approach as unproductive; I found myself chasing rumors of Bigfoot and yeties, rather than securing information I could trust. So I eventually turned to experimental genetics for my data, and there I found the answer to my question. The answer came from an article titled "The Striking Resemblence of High-Resolution G-Banded Chromosomes of Man and Chimpanzee," written by Jorge J. Yunis, Jeffrey R. Sawyer and Kelly Dunham [Science, Vol 208, 6 June 1980, pp. 1145-8]. These investigators applied a new staining agent called giemsa to the chromosome compliments of man and chimpanzee and made a detailed comparison of their banding patterns. Their new stain was able to resolve more than a thousand bands in the chromosomes of each species, revealing a similarity so close that they found it difficult to account for the phenotypic differences. As part of their article, they provided a diagram of the chromosome comparisons, showing not only an astonishing similarity, but a number of interesting differences as well. Among these differences was the revelation of nine pericentric inversions. This observation provided the answer to my question. Chromosome inversions are known to result in semi-sterility when crosses are made to individuals without the inversion. Since there are nine of these, and since a cross with only one inversion results in semi-sterility, the answer must be: No, it's not possible to cross a human being with a chimpanzee and obtain a viable offspring.
Sometimes, however, when one is looking for an answer to a trivial question, one stumbles across the answer to a much more important one. That's what happened in this case. The diagram given in the article clearly reveals the exact genetic mechanism responsible for the evolution of genus Homo, and strongly suggests that this did not take place over hundreds of thousands of years, as is generally believed, but occurred within the span of only three generations.
The theory of evolution taught in school when I was an undergraduate anthropology major was called the Modern Synthesis, a term coined by Julian Huxley in 1942. It attempted to integrate the insights offered by Darwinian evolution with those of modern population biology and genetics. Essentially it said that point mutation within structural genes was the source of variability within species, that the emergence of a new species was the result of the accumulation of many mutations, and that the pace of evolution was slow. Moreover, it said that the direction of evolutionary change was the result of natural selection working small variations. The shape of an organism, in other words, was the result of its adaptation to a specific environment. In effect, the theory said that the origin of a new species (macroevolution) was due to exactly the same causes as changes within a species (microevolution). But above all, it said that change was gradual.
As time went by, however, geologists and paleontologists began to find the theory unsatisfactory. No one doubted that the overall record showed a steady increase in the diversity and complexity of species, but it was becoming embarrassingly obvious that the fossil record did not show a smooth transition from one form to another. Instead, the record that species typically remained unchanged for millions of years, and then were abruptly replaced by a new species that were substantially different in form though clearly related. Evolution apparently worked in a jerky fashion, rather than in the smooth, gradual manner postulated by the Modern Synthesis.
The new view of evolution as characteristically jerky, now called punctuated equilibrium, was given its present form by Steven Jay Gould of Harvard and Niles Elderidge of the American Museum of Natural History in New York. They conceded that mutation and adaptation to specific environments, as postulated in the Modern Synthesis, applied to macroevolution as well as microevolution, but they also believed that another factor was at work in species formation. Among the most likely candidates for this factor was one called chromosome speciation. This theory, as proposed by Guy Bush of the University of Texas and Alan Wilson of Berkeley, says that a new species arises as a result of a re-arrangement of chromosome structure and not as a result of mutation. This proposal is a sound one. The connection between chromosome number and speciation is one kind of re-arrangement that is well known among plant breeders. They've known for a long time that by simply increasing the number of chromosomes typical of a species - a phenomenon called polyploidy - that it was possible to obtain a new variety with different characteristics. Many commercial plants, it turns out, were created in exactly this way; common bread wheat, for example, is a hexaploid, having three times as many chromosomes as its parent species, and some strawberries are octoploid, with four times the expected number.
But while polyploidy is fairly common among plant species, it's rarely found among animals, being observed mostly among those that reproduce asexually. Instead, the chromosome re-arrangement most often exhibited in animal species is translocation. This is when non-homologous chromosomes break and exchange parts: one of the two chromosomes in pair A exchange a part with one of the two chromosomes in pair B. If the break in the respective chromosomes occurs near their ends and the long parts are joined together, the short segments sometimes contain so little genetic information that they may be lost. This gives the appearance of two chromosomes having been fused together. This is what happened in our own ancestry, and is the mechanism responsible for the origin of man.
I have reproduced a small part of the diagram given in the article, showing the human second chromosome on the top, and two chimpanzee chromosomes on the bottom. It is patently obvious that the human second chromosome was created by translocation, or a fusion if you prefer, of two chimpanzee chromosomes. Or to be more precise, that the human second chromosome was created by a translocation of two chromosomes in an animal that was ancestor to both man and chimpanzee.
The sequence of events probably took place something like this. About five million years ago a translocation like that described above occurred in a pithecine male who was the controller of a harem of females. Rather than having 48 chromosomes, which was normal for his species, he had 47. When he mated with members of his harem, who possessed the usual number of chromosomes, half of his offspring would have had 48 chromosomes and half would have had 47. If some of those with 47 chromosomes mated among themselves, or were back-bred to their father, one quarter of their offspring would have had 48 chromosomes, one half would have had 47, and one quarter would have had 46. Those with 46 were the prototype of the new genus Homo. But at this stage they were not yet a new species. At most they can be thought of as a new chromosomal race., probably with great phenotypic difference from their fellows, but still not yet a new species. That had to wait for the appearance of one of the chromosome inversions discussed above. This inversion also probably occurred in a male with a harem and was transmitted in much the same way as the translocation. In this case, however, crosses between individuals with the inversion and those without produced only a few offspring, while matings between inverted chromosomes continued to be fertile, as did those without the inversion. This was the first step in breeding isolation. Suddenly, almost overnight, a new species came into existence.
I'm personally convinced that something like the scenario just presented really did take place. The exact details are almost certainly wrong, but the essentials ought to be correct. Still, it would be nice to have some experimental confirmation of the theory. Suppose we were to cut the human second chromosome in egg and sperm at exactly the same place it was originally fused together using recombinant DNA techniques. Could we back-breed man's pithecine ancestor? Could we recover "Lucy," the first member of our genus?
When this idea first occurred to me, I had a wonderful time working out the social and legal implications that would result if such an experiment could be carried out successfully. Unfortunately, the experiment won't work. Cutting the chromosome at the exact spot necessary is fairly simple in principle: one merely tailors the appropriate endonuclease for the point at which the cut is to be made. But the problem that can't be overcome is that only one of the two chromosome fragments would have a centromere, the indented part in the diagram. This is where the spindle fibers attach during cell reproduction, and without a centromere for every chromosome, the reproductive process fails. The cell dies.
On the other hand, another equally exciting experiment might well be possible. Suppose we applied DNA techniques to the chromosomes of chimpanzees. Suppose we attempt to fuse the same two chromosomes in chimpanzees that resulted in the origin of our own genus. Could we expect to get the same profound physical and mental changes that occurred in our own ancestry? And what are these changes likely to be? We know from Jane Goodall's work that chimpanzees are already tool users, and although scholars are bitterly divided on the subject, some believe chimps already have a rudimentary command of language. Furthermore, Arthur Jensen claims that the very brightest chimpanzees have the mental ability equivalent to that of the average nine or ten year old human [Bias in Mental Testing, p. 182]. Could an experiment like the one proposed tilt chimpanzees across the threshold into full intelligence?
Aside from possible mental changes that might result, we could also expect two important physical changes. One is an increase in neotony. Neotony means that the individual retains infant-like characteristics throughout its life span. When a human infant is compared to a chimpanzee or gorilla infant, their appearance turns out to be amazingly alike. But as each species matures, chimps and gorillas change greatly, whereas man continues to resemble his infant self.
The second physical change is likely to be more upright stature with the long human leg and striding walk. Much is made of man's opposing thumb, his stereoscopic color vision, his capacity for language, and so on; but his evolutionary success has been as much the result of his striding walk as all the more salient characteristics. If we were as short legged as chimps and gorillas - still knuckle-walkers - we would be confined to the continent of Africa. As it is, we spread over the entire face of the earth in a remarkably short time. Our chimpanzee protégés might be physically blessed in a similar way.
Could present DNA techniques really accomplish the fusion of two chromosomes? I admit that the outcome of such an experiment is far more problematical than simply cutting a chromosome in the right place. But if it is presently impossible, it soon won't be. A new engineering discipline called nano-technology will make the process child's play. The new technology is concerned with building microscopic machines and micromanipulators. Some of those working in the field believe that one day chemists may be able to physically manipulate individual atoms, to assemble and disassemble molecules as though they were tinker toys. If so, then the fusion of two chromosomes will be simple in comparison.
Very well, then, suppose the techniques work. Suppose that the experiment is tried and we do indeed obtain a viable, intelligent variety of chimp. Then what happens? Then the investigator applies for a patent. According to federal law, a new variety of life can be patented. Obviously, the law was intended to cover microbes that manufacture useful chemicals, or clean up oil spills. Obviously, it was not intended to cover the origin of a new, possibly intelligent species. Obviously, the case would go to the Supreme Court. One wonders how that court will deal with the hoary philosophical question of, "What is Man?"
Should such an experiment be carried out? For decades now, astronomers have been searching the heavens for signs of intelligent life. I submit that the reason for that search can be used as validly to justify the experiment I've proposed. Moreover, because they are our distant kin we have far more to learn from an intelligent race of chimps than we could ever hope to learn from some alien species in the stars: insights into intelligence, language, social organization and so on. But most of all, I would want to know if they had souls. The only way I can see to answer that question is to teach them one or more of the great religions and then to ask them. No matter what they might say, the answer is bound to be fascinating. Then I would ask them if they thought we had souls, too.
I wanted to know if it was possible to cross a human being with a chimpanzee and obtain a viable offspring. I knew of course that man has 46 chromosomes and the chimpanzee, like the other great apes, has 48. But I also knew that the horse has 64 chromosomes and the ass has 62 and they can still be crossed to produce a mule with 63. That implied that a difference in chromosome compliment might not be the barrier to breeding that it first appeared to be. I also knew that the DNA sequences of man and chimpanzee were identical at 99 out of 100 base pairs. The possibilities for a viable cross, therefore, looked reasonably good - good enough at any rate to justify spending some time in a library researching the matter.At first I considered trying to find out if anyone had actually carried out such an experiment. Mankind's sexual propensities being what they are, I wouldn't have been surprised; there's a good reason for syphilis being named for a mythological shepherd. But I finally discarded this approach as unproductive; I found myself chasing rumors of Bigfoot and yeties, rather than securing information I could trust. So I eventually turned to experimental genetics for my data, and there I found the answer to my question. The answer came from an article titled "The Striking Resemblence of High-Resolution G-Banded Chromosomes of Man and Chimpanzee," written by Jorge J. Yunis, Jeffrey R. Sawyer and Kelly Dunham [Science, Vol 208, 6 June 1980, pp. 1145-8]. These investigators applied a new staining agent called giemsa to the chromosome compliments of man and chimpanzee and made a detailed comparison of their banding patterns. Their new stain was able to resolve more than a thousand bands in the chromosomes of each species, revealing a similarity so close that they found it difficult to account for the phenotypic differences. As part of their article, they provided a diagram of the chromosome comparisons, showing not only an astonishing similarity, but a number of interesting differences as well. Among these differences was the revelation of nine pericentric inversions. This observation provided the answer to my question. Chromosome inversions are known to result in semi-sterility when crosses are made to individuals without the inversion. Since there are nine of these, and since a cross with only one inversion results in semi-sterility, the answer must be: No, it's not possible to cross a human being with a chimpanzee and obtain a viable offspring.
Sometimes, however, when one is looking for an answer to a trivial question, one stumbles across the answer to a much more important one. That's what happened in this case. The diagram given in the article clearly reveals the exact genetic mechanism responsible for the evolution of genus Homo, and strongly suggests that this did not take place over hundreds of thousands of years, as is generally believed, but occurred within the span of only three generations.
The theory of evolution taught in school when I was an undergraduate anthropology major was called the Modern Synthesis, a term coined by Julian Huxley in 1942. It attempted to integrate the insights offered by Darwinian evolution with those of modern population biology and genetics. Essentially it said that point mutation within structural genes was the source of variability within species, that the emergence of a new species was the result of the accumulation of many mutations, and that the pace of evolution was slow. Moreover, it said that the direction of evolutionary change was the result of natural selection working small variations. The shape of an organism, in other words, was the result of its adaptation to a specific environment. In effect, the theory said that the origin of a new species (macroevolution) was due to exactly the same causes as changes within a species (microevolution). But above all, it said that change was gradual.
As time went by, however, geologists and paleontologists began to find the theory unsatisfactory. No one doubted that the overall record showed a steady increase in the diversity and complexity of species, but it was becoming embarrassingly obvious that the fossil record did not show a smooth transition from one form to another. Instead, the record that species typically remained unchanged for millions of years, and then were abruptly replaced by a new species that were substantially different in form though clearly related. Evolution apparently worked in a jerky fashion, rather than in the smooth, gradual manner postulated by the Modern Synthesis.
The new view of evolution as characteristically jerky, now called punctuated equilibrium, was given its present form by Steven Jay Gould of Harvard and Niles Elderidge of the American Museum of Natural History in New York. They conceded that mutation and adaptation to specific environments, as postulated in the Modern Synthesis, applied to macroevolution as well as microevolution, but they also believed that another factor was at work in species formation. Among the most likely candidates for this factor was one called chromosome speciation. This theory, as proposed by Guy Bush of the University of Texas and Alan Wilson of Berkeley, says that a new species arises as a result of a re-arrangement of chromosome structure and not as a result of mutation. This proposal is a sound one. The connection between chromosome number and speciation is one kind of re-arrangement that is well known among plant breeders. They've known for a long time that by simply increasing the number of chromosomes typical of a species - a phenomenon called polyploidy - that it was possible to obtain a new variety with different characteristics. Many commercial plants, it turns out, were created in exactly this way; common bread wheat, for example, is a hexaploid, having three times as many chromosomes as its parent species, and some strawberries are octoploid, with four times the expected number.
But while polyploidy is fairly common among plant species, it's rarely found among animals, being observed mostly among those that reproduce asexually. Instead, the chromosome re-arrangement most often exhibited in animal species is translocation. This is when non-homologous chromosomes break and exchange parts: one of the two chromosomes in pair A exchange a part with one of the two chromosomes in pair B. If the break in the respective chromosomes occurs near their ends and the long parts are joined together, the short segments sometimes contain so little genetic information that they may be lost. This gives the appearance of two chromosomes having been fused together. This is what happened in our own ancestry, and is the mechanism responsible for the origin of man.
I have reproduced a small part of the diagram given in the article, showing the human second chromosome on the top, and two chimpanzee chromosomes on the bottom. It is patently obvious that the human second chromosome was created by translocation, or a fusion if you prefer, of two chimpanzee chromosomes. Or to be more precise, that the human second chromosome was created by a translocation of two chromosomes in an animal that was ancestor to both man and chimpanzee.
The sequence of events probably took place something like this. About five million years ago a translocation like that described above occurred in a pithecine male who was the controller of a harem of females. Rather than having 48 chromosomes, which was normal for his species, he had 47. When he mated with members of his harem, who possessed the usual number of chromosomes, half of his offspring would have had 48 chromosomes and half would have had 47. If some of those with 47 chromosomes mated among themselves, or were back-bred to their father, one quarter of their offspring would have had 48 chromosomes, one half would have had 47, and one quarter would have had 46. Those with 46 were the prototype of the new genus Homo. But at this stage they were not yet a new species. At most they can be thought of as a new chromosomal race., probably with great phenotypic difference from their fellows, but still not yet a new species. That had to wait for the appearance of one of the chromosome inversions discussed above. This inversion also probably occurred in a male with a harem and was transmitted in much the same way as the translocation. In this case, however, crosses between individuals with the inversion and those without produced only a few offspring, while matings between inverted chromosomes continued to be fertile, as did those without the inversion. This was the first step in breeding isolation. Suddenly, almost overnight, a new species came into existence.
I'm personally convinced that something like the scenario just presented really did take place. The exact details are almost certainly wrong, but the essentials ought to be correct. Still, it would be nice to have some experimental confirmation of the theory. Suppose we were to cut the human second chromosome in egg and sperm at exactly the same place it was originally fused together using recombinant DNA techniques. Could we back-breed man's pithecine ancestor? Could we recover "Lucy," the first member of our genus?
When this idea first occurred to me, I had a wonderful time working out the social and legal implications that would result if such an experiment could be carried out successfully. Unfortunately, the experiment won't work. Cutting the chromosome at the exact spot necessary is fairly simple in principle: one merely tailors the appropriate endonuclease for the point at which the cut is to be made. But the problem that can't be overcome is that only one of the two chromosome fragments would have a centromere, the indented part in the diagram. This is where the spindle fibers attach during cell reproduction, and without a centromere for every chromosome, the reproductive process fails. The cell dies.
On the other hand, another equally exciting experiment might well be possible. Suppose we applied DNA techniques to the chromosomes of chimpanzees. Suppose we attempt to fuse the same two chromosomes in chimpanzees that resulted in the origin of our own genus. Could we expect to get the same profound physical and mental changes that occurred in our own ancestry? And what are these changes likely to be? We know from Jane Goodall's work that chimpanzees are already tool users, and although scholars are bitterly divided on the subject, some believe chimps already have a rudimentary command of language. Furthermore, Arthur Jensen claims that the very brightest chimpanzees have the mental ability equivalent to that of the average nine or ten year old human [Bias in Mental Testing, p. 182]. Could an experiment like the one proposed tilt chimpanzees across the threshold into full intelligence?
Aside from possible mental changes that might result, we could also expect two important physical changes. One is an increase in neotony. Neotony means that the individual retains infant-like characteristics throughout its life span. When a human infant is compared to a chimpanzee or gorilla infant, their appearance turns out to be amazingly alike. But as each species matures, chimps and gorillas change greatly, whereas man continues to resemble his infant self.
The second physical change is likely to be more upright stature with the long human leg and striding walk. Much is made of man's opposing thumb, his stereoscopic color vision, his capacity for language, and so on; but his evolutionary success has been as much the result of his striding walk as all the more salient characteristics. If we were as short legged as chimps and gorillas - still knuckle-walkers - we would be confined to the continent of Africa. As it is, we spread over the entire face of the earth in a remarkably short time. Our chimpanzee protégés might be physically blessed in a similar way.
Could present DNA techniques really accomplish the fusion of two chromosomes? I admit that the outcome of such an experiment is far more problematical than simply cutting a chromosome in the right place. But if it is presently impossible, it soon won't be. A new engineering discipline called nano-technology will make the process child's play. The new technology is concerned with building microscopic machines and micromanipulators. Some of those working in the field believe that one day chemists may be able to physically manipulate individual atoms, to assemble and disassemble molecules as though they were tinker toys. If so, then the fusion of two chromosomes will be simple in comparison.
Very well, then, suppose the techniques work. Suppose that the experiment is tried and we do indeed obtain a viable, intelligent variety of chimp. Then what happens? Then the investigator applies for a patent. According to federal law, a new variety of life can be patented. Obviously, the law was intended to cover microbes that manufacture useful chemicals, or clean up oil spills. Obviously, it was not intended to cover the origin of a new, possibly intelligent species. Obviously, the case would go to the Supreme Court. One wonders how that court will deal with the hoary philosophical question of, "What is Man?"
Should such an experiment be carried out? For decades now, astronomers have been searching the heavens for signs of intelligent life. I submit that the reason for that search can be used as validly to justify the experiment I've proposed. Moreover, because they are our distant kin we have far more to learn from an intelligent race of chimps than we could ever hope to learn from some alien species in the stars: insights into intelligence, language, social organization and so on. But most of all, I would want to know if they had souls. The only way I can see to answer that question is to teach them one or more of the great religions and then to ask them. No matter what they might say, the answer is bound to be fascinating. Then I would ask them if they thought we had souls, too.
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