Sep 28, 2016


I prefer to call it Autumn - just a nice word all around. And that simple question set my mind off because I like everything about Autumn.

Autumn feels like home. Not that it reminds me of any place I have ever lived, Autumn IS a place. A physical place I inhabit,  it is home.

It is so easy to wax lyrical about the Fall - the colors, of course, how obvious. But the light - the light is different in the Fall. The sun is lower in the sky and the afternoons come sooner. The light is filtered by orange, red and yellow leaves. It is light that wraps itself around you and holds you close and dear.

The air smells crisp and clean, you can touch it and taste it - like the Autumn apples symbolic of the season. If by some chance, someone, somewhere, is burning the fallen leaves, the smell and wisps of smoke add a layer of warmth and magic.

A late afternoon thunderstorm - the sky a dark grey blanket, almost bare branches tapping at the window covered in wet and windblown russet leaves...It makes me feel protected and safe.

Some people find Autumn a little sad, they think of it as the beginning to the end - of Summer, of the year, of their lives.

September is my New Year and a time of beginnings, October, the grandest month of the year, is my birth month. Autumn is everything to me. It is me. It is my home. It is my safe place.

But I understand those who feel differently...

Sep 16, 2016

The unvarnished truth

I read something last week where the author prides themself on over-sharing; telling the unvarnished truth even tipping over into TMI. They want everyone to know every little thing about them. They wish to be known down to their last little foible. Their every thought and opinion presented but not judged.

To be known. Deep down in your heart of hearts; even to the dark parts of your soul. Should you? Should we be that transparent, that naked?

While I have been cogitating on that the Universe has been throwing various aspects of it in my way.

I often think, don't know if I have said, that I wish I was known, not famous you understand, but that someone knew me. Knew all of me. Knew all of my life; knew all of my darkness as well as the light. Knew what I have said and done and thought and felt. I know that some of my words and deeds and beliefs would discomfort some people; would have them judge me harshly, just as some of my words and deeds and beliefs would raise me in their esteem.

We humans seem to have a need to be known. We want to put it all out there; dump it all out on the table and have someone partake of it all, not pick and choose what pleases them.

The unvarnished truth; the naked truth about ourselves - all of it. Do we even know it, how then to share it? Should we?

We crave complete and unconditional acceptance. Is that even possible? Should it be?

Keeping something of yourself for yourself alone; keeping your secrets to enjoy, because yes, some secrets can be joyful, happy - those wild dreams and fantasies and what-ifs. We want to hold some of them close, do we not?  And do we not all have something we wish to hide, and wish we didn't?

So I am torn - I want to tell it all - the unvarnished, naked truth; my unvarnished naked truth. But who, or what, would it serve? Only me. Only my insecurities and my hubris.

There is that line about never lying because then you don't have to remember what you said. Telling the truth regardless of the consequence because it's the right thing to do - telling the truth. Right for whom?

So this is a mish-mash of talking about truth telling as opposed to lying, and truth telling to - what - find love, acceptance, relieve guilt, feel connected, be known.

Perhaps the naked truth should remain clothed; the unvarnished truth retain some polish, or perhaps we should be like Gregory Corso-

The Whole Mess ... Almost

Related Poem Content Details

I ran up six flights of stairs 
to my small furnished room   
opened the window 
and began throwing out 
those things most important in life 

First to go, Truth, squealing like a fink: 
“Don’t! I’ll tell awful things about you!” 
“Oh yeah? Well, I’ve nothing to hide ... OUT!” 
Then went God, glowering & whimpering in amazement:   
“It’s not my fault! I’m not the cause of it all!” “OUT!”   
Then Love, cooing bribes: “You’ll never know impotency!   
All the girls on Vogue covers, all yours!” 
I pushed her fat ass out and screamed: 
“You always end up a bummer!” 
I picked up Faith Hope Charity 
all three clinging together: 
“Without us you’ll surely die!” 
“With you I’m going nuts! Goodbye!” 

Then Beauty ... ah, Beauty— 
As I led her to the window 
I told her: “You I loved best in life 
... but you’re a killer; Beauty kills!”   
Not really meaning to drop her 
I immediately ran downstairs 
getting there just in time to catch her   
“You saved me!” she cried 
I put her down and told her: “Move on.” 

Went back up those six flights 
went to the money 
there was no money to throw out. 
The only thing left in the room was Death   
hiding beneath the kitchen sink: 
“I’m not real!” It cried 
“I’m just a rumor spread by life ... ”   
Laughing I threw it out, kitchen sink and all   
and suddenly realized Humor 
was all that was left— 
All I could do with Humor was to say:   
“Out the window with the window!”

Sep 7, 2016

And so we danced...

That little phrase popped into my head. Later in the day, for no particular reason, I got up and looked out the window and noticed the riot of flowers on the next door neighbor's balcony. I put the two together...

for no particular reason.

Sep 3, 2016

On this day, 101 years ago

my father was born.  He died 57 years, 4 months and 18 days later.  I don't have any good photos of my father because the reason he died destroyed all the family photos (or so she said).

Some years after my father died I wrote an essay about him. And a few years ago I transcribed that essay into a blog post.

I have to be honest, my father doesn't always come to mind on his birthday; I can go months and months without thinking about him, but when I do it hits me like a ton of bricks. Like today; or rather yesterday when I started thinking about today.

I can never remember the date of his death for some strange reason. I always recall it as being January 23rd for some reason.  I have to pull out that memorial program the funeral parlor prints up to check the date.

My father is 'entombed' in a drawer in a huge mausoleum, which faces East because it is primarily used by Masons. His drawer is quite high up, if I recall correctly. I could be wrong, I never went there after the day of entombment (I have no idea how to describe this - he certainly wasn't buried. And we did not witness his coffin being put into the drawer.)

I like to walk through cemeteries, the headstones and memorials are often quite beautiful but to be honest I think cemeteries are a waste of precious real estate.  All that land could be put to good use rather than being used as a human landfill. But I digress. Then again maybe I don't because I think I'm finished here.

Happy Birthday, Pop.