Glass Lovers

Glass Lovers by CDM.MMX

Sometimes, sometimes you can see right through people.  Sometimes what you see is a thing of more beauty on the inside than what was visible on the outside.

Bugs and Stuff...

No, I'm not talking about the kind of bugs that crawl around in the kitchen, nor even about the kind that crawl around in the woods or in the lawn, I'm talking about the kind that crawl around on a microscope slide. The kind you harvest and culture up from a sample of bullshit, which is how this idea got started, just pure bullshit for sport. But, the longer I've looked at it the more I've realized hey, sometimes bullshit is the most fertile environment going to conceive and gestate an idea that really, really needs to happen. So I'd like to talk about bugs for a minute or two in relation to something most folks wouldn't think is related at all. Bugs may be one possible solution for global climate change.

things they didn't tell you at the career fair...

Living in a college town I've given thought to printing up a few of these, and posting them (most illegally, I'm sure) on various bulletin boards around campus.  But, for tactical considerations, think I'll wait until my local properties are all sold and I'm not sleeping where they think I am.  I'd like to get a round or two off in return, and have a fighting chance to escape with my life...

Bar Room Blues...

Listenin' to blues, lookin' at babes
And wishin' I weren't as old
As the whiskey I'm sippin'
Shuts down that whistlin'
Through the empty place in my soul.

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One from the master I'd like to be...
Or maybe I wouldn't like to be...
It gets confusing around closing time...

Takiea: Ch 10

The room hadn't changed in years. The projection screen, the curving expanse of the polished pine table, the unit insignia hanging on the grass cloth walls. Different gray clad bodies had sat around the polished table over the years to decide the defense of the Republic, collar insignia glittering softly in the San Antonio sun shining through the filtered glass of a focused skylight. The group assembled on this morning filled the room to capacity. The high command of the Republic of Texas was gathered to hear for the first time the complete plan for the relief of the siege of Zion. At precisely 0800 hours the principle speaker mounted the short steps to the pedestal which filled the center of the room. A silence fell over the room as he cleared his throat.

Torn on the Fourth of July

A bit of arithmatic: 2011 - 1776 = 235. Statement of fact, two hundred thirty five years since the founding fathers told the King of England to shove it up his ass and formed the United States of America, declared themselves free men who would bend a knee to no monarch. Good job, guys. No, great job guys, truly a phenomenal work of self realization to shatter the crap and bullshit of religion empowered tyranny. Across the centuries I send you my salute, the world hasn't really seen your equal since. It is one thing to pull off a successful revolution, dislodge the tyrant by force of arms, a work of courage and dedication, but gentlemen your accomplishment goes far, far beyond that. It is one thing to pull off a successful revolution, it is another thing entirely to convert that victory into any working nation, much less a nation such as the United States of America. Yours was a magnificent work endured on a par with the run of Athens across the height of her glory, on a par with the majesty of Rome. I offer no false compliment, such is the scope of your achievement that history has rarely matched and never exceeded. I send you my salute, my forefathers. I am descended from a man who signed the Declaration with you, who helped you toss a load to tea overboard one evening. I think on your accomplishments, your wisdom and your forethought, and I stand in awe of what you showed the world.

Life at My House #41

Shattered glass and scattered tears
Shallow'd mind drown'd sunken fears
In so-so lines and high point beers,
Perhaps he'll fake a few good years...
Before the curtain falls, and smears.

Sonnet to Silence

Oh, I could tell of love soft made
Laid summer nights for winter wine
To toast sweet siren's song replayed,
Such bounty young beseem divine
Faux sage to mourn the bygone times
With tales oft told of feasting hoard
Winéd poets' lay spake lover mime
Enact the plays hot passion scored
Pen'd carnal parts set soft sin blued
Blind dance away the autumn's purge
Worn cinder hearts burn amber hued
'Ore hearth in home of silence merge
Pale whisps of sleep like fallen leaves
Scant winter solstice ne'er will grieve.

HOS: The Art of Isolation

I heard of a story once, didn't read it, just heard of it.  The name of the yarn was "The Hunger Artist."  I'm not even really sure if it was prose or poetry.  But the plot?  Ah now, the plot I do recall.  It had to do with a culture where starvation was an art form.  I suppose you might have deduced that from the title, but oh well.  In that story the hunger artist starves himself, as all such artists do, but in his case apparently he starved himself to death.  Like I said in the beginning, I never read the work, but somehow I think the whole point rolled down to this question:  if the art is the focused will to create such inner distractions one can endure the agony then what says the art concerning death?  The dead do not hunger nor thirst, the dead no longer feel the body.  Is it art to starve yourself... even unto death?  Was he really an artist, or simply suicidal in the slowest of forms?