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Christmas

Christmas

A few things from some years ago.

Making Merry is also a kind of cause, a chore, so to speak, that makes the scrooges magically transform (are we still talking about Christmas Spinster movies?).

California

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"You can't cheat an honest man." which is the title of a movie. Howie Carr said this line while discussing politics. Not sure what he was saying. It was about the election for Boston Mayor.

  Christmas Romance
      a genre of self-parody

Dec 2, 2013

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Please visit my DEMOS

Full moon over the Lamoille Delta, at the Rt 2 Causeway.

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Lamoille River Delta!

In the AIDS Grove at Golden Gate Park. The day of the Bay To Breakers, May, 2011

Style means more than just rules

'Love Solves everything, so simple.' page:

Very Many Hearts

    Praise the Lord!

Praise the Lord!

The Ghost of Christmas

  Visit me, Ghost of
     the dead man
          danger
        
   The view from here
       always has your
       ghost in it now
  laughing at the table
     with the dreamers 
   from the past
    beers for everyone around.

  They sound of shotguns
 makes her tremble
   she cowered in the shower low
  They took the baby
     somewhere else
 for a day or two.
  Her mother'd go on a rampage.

 chase them down the drive.
 Shout at them as the go into the 
     store for bullets
   "If you eva come back
  where its clearly posted
     on my land."
 fist raised.
    The clerks all noted
 the kinds of bullets
     she bought
  and wrote it down
  in his mind.

  And if he ever had to give
    testamony
  about her
 he'd say
   "Fine, fine.
    fine Christian woman
 maybe a little bit
     too protective
 but not without cause."

  in his mind
 he loved her, dreamed
    all about her
 thought out the rest of her life
      for her
 him in dream with her.
  If only she were younger.
 If only she weren't his 
   friend's mother,
 if he were older
 if it were he who had
 inherited the farm
 the sun set after three or twelve
        beers
   all the hay in the barn
 She could have been his
 this could have all been his
   these sunsets
 the smell of cattle and the stank
      of the lower bogs . . . 

   It is then that he closes the drawer.
  counts the money.
       What does he do
 with the money he puts in the safe?
   and why should the audience know?

  And who gets to say
 what story is told or
 that there need only be one.

   Don't tell him that there
  is just one version of the story
      because, ask the mayor's buddy,
 the one that they wrote all the stories about
 closed down a blog,
   body down deep and far atop the cold ridge midnight
       and frozen in the crimson snow.
 He knows who bought the bullets
     who put them in the chamber
  and who must have pulled the
      trigger . . . 

 But he was wrong
  and he really didn't know
 he only thought he knew,
 it ate at him.

 it ruined his life.
 He sat around with worry
 about things that were not
      ever even real
 as if they had great weight
 and could drag him to the lowest trenches of the sea
    where only devils (that he was just making up
      in his mind just as he was thinking
      about it) 
    live and eat his soul
        like a piece of
 over rip food.

  But in the morning
  sparkling patterned ice on the crystal pane
 back to the grain store
  and the window
 where he sells bullits
  and writes down
 in his mind
 where each and everyone must go.

I got nothing more