Every Time A Bell Rings...

...an angel gets his wings. 

Inspiration from It's a Wonderful Life.

Baby, it's cold outside. I don't feel like moving from this deep sleep. 
Baby, it's cold outside. I need you close to me. 


She lights a candle and puts on that slow record,
the one that lulls her into sweet dreams. The moment pulls along,
like the long drag of a cigarette; like honey dripping off a spoon. 
She cracks the window and sits on the sill; she tucks her legs up to her chest. 
It's snowing outside. The moon's casting shadows across her bedroom floor.
That lonely bedroom. That lonely moon. 
Lasso it. She wishes she could lasso the moon. 
She wishes she could find someone willing
to make dreams like that come true--
wishes she could find someone worth wishing for. 
The snow sparkles on her sill like shattered panes of glass.
If only she could pull the moon down from its high palace. Then she'd have someone
to spend the night with--someone to whisper her dreams to
in the dark, black night. 

Where do those dreams go, into the darkness?

Into the night sky?

Out into the storm, to get mixed in with the snowflakes

and built into an igloo in some child's front lawn? 

I hope so. I hope they make their way in a world as

cold as this one. I hope they make it long enough

to see the ground thaw and the spring bloom. 

I hope they make it.

She wants moonbeams to shoot out of her skin. 

She wants to dance until the sun rises and makes the hillside pink. 

She wants to live in a perpetual dream, in which the record never

stops spinning and her feet never tire and her dance partner never tires.

She wants to look at her flower and watch it multiply into a garden. She wants to be 

foolish enough to believe, fully, that the real world can mesh with her dreams.

She wants beauty. She wants to be made of moonbeams.

Dream a little dream for me, 

for  all's fair in love,

isn't that what they say?

That's why she lights up

like a firefly,

that'd look so pretty in a jar on a bedstand or

on a printed postcard--

That's why she shys away

like a secret--
when you're around.

For, all's fair in love.

Her taken heart jumps just thinking

of walking with you.

All's fair in love. All's fair in love. All's fair in love

and war. Well, I don't know about war.

Baby, it's cold outside. Won't you climb in next to me?
Won't you catch that moon, ring that bell, sing that tune?
And take these fallen petals and tuck them away, for
they'll be worth something, someday. 
Let me have your vacant ear, 
let me whisper my childish dream,
though I know you'll never hear,
Baby, it's cold out, hold me close, hold me near.

 

Decision Making

Trying not to let lots of things interfere.

It's easier that way. There's less muddle. Less complications.

She may be in the business for a lot of things,
but wasting her time,
wasting her precious energy,
she's not in the business for that.

Growing smarter every day
as they slowly decide what things to keep
and what things aren't worth the dust they gather
sitting on the back burner. Or the top shelf.

Without a sense

We learn at an early age that we each have 5 senses. Sight, sound, taste, touch and smell. We use these to sense danger, if we smell smoke or hear a siren. Our sense heighten pleasure, so much so that the smell of warm baked cookies can link you to your mom's kitchen, or the taste of cotton candy can bring images to mind of your first carnival. What would a hug mean if you couldn't feel the person's arms wrapped around yours? What importance would music have in religion, culture and history, if not for our ability to sense sound with our ears?

In addition to those, we often discuss a sixth sense. (And no, I'm not thinking about the Bruce Willis movie.) That feeling of deja vu, or the crawling feeling you get when you know someone's watching you, those are senses too. These internal senses help evoke emotion, stir longings, grapple with memory. They can't be tested as easily as sight or hearing, but for most people, this sixth sense can be, well, sensed. With out, we'd all be grossly out of tune with one another. This humanistic sense connects us, makes us wired in a strange, intangible way.

But the list of definitions for sense continue. The dictionary includes entries such as: sound, practical intelligence--the value, merit, or significance of something--a DNA sequence capable of coding for an amino acid--an opinion formed by a group consensus. In a properly functioning society, leaders have a good sense of what's going on. They also are able to sense change arriving; they provide a sense of security for their followers. Followers too utilize their own senses when listening to broadcasts and empathizing with situations. In order to seek progress, individuals must provide a moral sense in their lives. To keep things light, we must develop a sense of humor. We must realize that there's little sense in holding on to the past, when the future lies so close to our eyes.


Sometimes, we lose our senses. Flustering situations, panic, laughter, change, can all alter our perception of the life we have built for ourselves. That's perfectly OK. Some moments in our lives, sense shouldn't take the reigns. Death, for instance, make perfect sense. Life happens, and it ends. Biological, right? So why do we cry and mourn for our loved ones when they pass? It's illogical if you think it through, and yet our emotions take over, and sense gets put in the back seat. A lot of decisions made in Washington make sense for the greater good, and yet they result in arguments and anger among different political parties. In forming our own opinions, we essentially give up any hope of finding common ground, a set of simple, sensible rules to live by. When we follow our own desires, we forfeit the right to say 'this makes sense.' Sense, in this sense, refers to personal perception, not straight knowledge. That's perfectly OK too. 

A man who hopes to get close to others, to make connections stronger than political, social, or business allies, must overstep the boundaries of what makes sense to himself, and accept that things can be right without being logical. Life isn't a puzzle. It's not a race to see who can build the most impressive picture. It's about indulging in delicacies on occasion, living out our dreams, and speaking up, even if our sentences make no sense.  In the long run, comprehension can't compare with our internally developed six senses. Those primitive aspects did, after all, came first. 

And now that you've read all that, 

listen to this completely nonsensical song by the Barenaked Ladies (a nonsense name if I ever saw one.) I may or may not (I do) know all the words to this song.

Hurricane Irene

Life is sad;

Life is a bust.

All you can do,

is do what you must

Bob Dylan's an inspiration. Saw him in concert a few years ago, and must admit that his recorded stuff is better. He certainly has not aged well. I absolutely love this song. Listen to it every time it rains, along with the rest of my rain play-list, which makes my pen (or keys) dribble out thoughts like these...

***

In my dream, you looked like a pirate

and I said

you need a haircut

and you agreed

so I said

let's go

and we went

***

Thinks she's too old for plucking petals

from daisies.

There are some things we should just know.

Her toes curled over that sharp ledge, 

she looks out at marshmallow skies, 

which twitter with sparrows,

with the symphony of late August.

An applause of fallen leaves

sweeps the ground.

A standing ovation

persuades her

to stay for

Act II

 ***

Spent days filling her journal with all the stories of her life.

She figured those things happened

simply so that she could write them,

and please others

with her fairy tales.  

We're not so different afterall

        We may be extremely advanced here in America. Our currency (though its weight not so heavy) may be the universal exchange currency. We may have opened our arms to immigrants in the past, allowing our lands to be a melting pot of culture and prosperity.

        We may be fighting wars in the middle east right now, in some vague attempt to stick up for what's right. We put down Muslim nations for treating their women poorly. We react with disgust and outrage at stories like the one of Sorya M., about whose stoning both a book and movie have been written. We're too blinded by the red-white-and blue banners, and luxurious freedoms in America, to ever think that situations just as pitiful as those in the middle east could occur on North American ground.

But they do.

        I just read this article about a young girl in Missouri, a special ed kid nonetheless, who was kicked out of school for accusing a boy of rape. She was forced to apologize to his face for her "finger-pointing." A few years later, the former incident recurred. She was afraid to speak up and say something, afraid of being dismissed from school again. After investigation, police found that she had been assaulted sexually by the same boy, twice. And as far as I can tell, no one is taking the blame for this scenario.

        Now this doesn't just happen to girls and women. Just over a decade ago, Matthew Shepard was tortured and murdered in Wyoming because of his sexual orientation. Two years ago, Dr. George Tiller was shot down in his church, because he refused to stop performing abortions.

The list goes on, I'm afraid.

        This post isn't meant to be cynical. I don't intend to step on the integrity of America in any way. I merely want to recognize the fact that culture doesn't define behavior, as much as human tendency does. I don't know why we're so mean or cruel to one another, but I know that as a global society, we let these injustices slide. Genocides happen. Murders, homicides, theft, and assault happen.

        I'm not sure how we can squash these problems. I guess one start would be sympathizing with the victim, hearing their side. This could have prevented the Missouri case, and the Sorya's case as well. We preach freedom of speech, and so we must ensure that everyone has an equal opportunity to exercise his or her voice. The other option, I guess, would be a world-wide law...just be nice. That would do the trick. Now just how to go about enforcing it....

Turn up the noise

Highly entertained tonight by the GOP debate tonight,  followed by The Daily Show, which gave me some perspective.

I learned a lot tonight:

• Michelle Bachman has had more foster kids than were in my elementary school class
• She also thinks that submission is equal to respect
• A pizza delivery man wants to lead my country
• You can preach equality while still refusing to pass a bill legalizing gay marriage on the federal level
• Iowans deep fry butter.

Furthermore,

        Mitt Romney believes that the "ideal place to raise a child is in a home with a mom and a dad." However, our very successful current president was raised by his mother and grandmother. In fact, the idea of a traditional family is rapidly changing these days...there is no such thing as a cookie-cutter family in this country.

        When Santorum stated [on abortion], "To be victimized twice would be a horrible thing. We should surround these women and help them," I agreed. We should support women who cannot support their children. I'd like to see Santorum himself going around and handing out blankets, diapers and food to every pregnant woman across this nation who cannot raise her baby, and could not get an abortion. Once I see him do that, I'll begin to consider his candidacy and validity.

        I could go on and on about the ridiculousness of politics,

but I'd rather not.

        I'm going to read some more of my Joshua Foer book, and get some sleep.

But before I do that, I'm going to watch the Colbert Report...

And you should get your dose of Steven Colbert too:  click here!

Creme Brulee Finger & Stupidity

        Had a minor finger surgery today. They pumped a ton of anesthetics into my middle finger, and removed some strange foreign object that I don't remember ever entering my poor hand. The doctor used some strange fire-related tool to "seal up the wound." The process reminded me of creme brulee, although not as appetizing.

 

        As I was driving home, I ended up behind this tiny, beat up automobile with all of these heinous, right-wing bumper stickers. Now, I can try to understand Republicans and hear them out if they present their ideals sanely. What I don't understand is stupidity. One of this woman's stickers read "When Liberals ask you for change, say you don't have any." Tell me how this is cooperative, kind, or hopeful. When I read that, I felt sorry for her. All I could think was Wow, you really have no sense of spirit, and no desire to help bring about change.  

        I'm not a fan of party politics. I don't think having a wing-system brings us any closer to accomplishments, because the game of politics itself detracts from the issues we face as a nation. When we all sit around and complain about the administration, or slap meaningless stickers on our bumpers, we simply feed the problem and make it larger. The only way to make things better is by finding representatives who will act instead of speak, who will go out in do instead of dwell on mistakes.

The Gas Pedal

She's drive a car that doesn't have brakes. 

Dangerous, one might think, but really, it isn't.

The road she's on has no stop signs, no red lights, 

no places to turn around.

She's able to ease up off the gas,

to slow down and take in the scenery.

But, the only way to stop would be to take her foot off the pedal.

She's never tried this approach, and she's afraid if she does,

the car may never start again.

She'd be stranded, with no directions home.

Besides, there's no need to stop, no need to reach for that brake

that isn't there.

There's far too much to see, 

too many places to go.

Keep Hold of Your Royal Flush

        He may have spoken truths. But just how true those truths were, she didn't expect to find out. First she thought in circles, tightly bound in the pits of her stomach. Then she let her thoughts run in lines again. She let them prance onto pages of notebooks and note cards. She signed them and placed them in envelopes, then hid them to be found as treasures later on. Mindful treasure that would serve as a document of history. Her face flushed when she read documents from years past; these too, will draw smiles one day.

        She isn't a fool. She believed in everything at first, because she had to. Then she realized how silly it is to latch onto the words of anyone else, because words are not solid. They represent, in their purest form, ambiguity. Interpretation. These qualities make language fun, but unreliable, and hurtful at times. She listens now, nods and smiles, but does little else. After all, life is a game of cards and she's been dealt a solid hand. But she'll be wise to hold onto her hearts until the outcome is for certain. She can't afford to gamble.