#10 You give Love

I know that I will never know
yet I should still keep seeking.

It is not lightly that I compare my friend, Mikel K Poet to a Bukowski, John Fante or Hunter S. Thompson. He is twisted. He is misunderstood. He is Arturio Bandini running amok through this crazy life! Mostly, he is genius in it's purest, insanest form (and I say that in a good way). Not all will "get" him, but that's ok because he doesn't "get" most of us mere mortals either. His observations, stories and poetry are intriguing, thought-provoking and sometimes downright disturbing...gotta love it!--Valerie King

My cats are going to die one day, but if I focus on that fact, now, I just ruin all the joy that they currently give me.

"You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty."--Mohandas Gandhi

I'm not sure what I think about Gandhi. Surface level he seems like a great guy, but if you dig a bit you find that a lot of people think tha he was kind of a scumbag. Piss on your heroes.

I'm thinking that this person I know is what's known as a functional drunk. You keep your job,
you appear to have it together, but according to this person at a 12 Step Meeting you don't have your act together at all.

I'm a strange man, at times. You know this. It's not like I take my penis out in parking lots, and wave it at little girls. In fact, now that I've called myself strange, I take it back. I am more normal than normal. I have oatmeal for breakfast, and I wash my clothes when they are dirty. I don't much make my bed, though, but I don't think that that qualifies me as strange; lazy maybe.

If you step on a cat's tail, even if you didn't mean to, the cat will still scream. I discovered this by accidentally stepping on my cat's tail, the other day. The cat acted as if I had stuck a knife in its gut.It did not hold a grudge, though; minutes later it was meowing for a cat treat.
I like being up late. This time of night, when the world is quiet is a good time to write. I am a writer. Ideally, I like to hit the hay, as they say, about one a.m., and then wake, without an alarm clock,write between five a.m. and 7 a.m., and then go back to bed for a couple of hours. Aren't you glad to know that?

Let me reiterate, let me remind myself...I am a writer.

I have wandered fairly far from where I was, and, now, I have been settled where I am for quite some time. I am more stable than I have ever been in my life. When I die, they might say, "He was a stable man." I was reading about a writer who died, tonight, who they said liked to drink a lot. He bragged about his drinking a bit. I think that a writer who really drinks a lot would wind up covered in blood, and puke, in jail cells having arrived in that cell in a black out like I used to. This guy died of cancer of the esophagus. He used to brag about how he loved his cigarettes also. In 12 Step Circles they caution you about taking another person's "Inventory," so I am going to stop now. I need to work on me, and not worry about someone else when it comes to drinking, and smoking.


The song, "Sleigh Ride," was playing on The Pandora Christmas Channel, over The Holidays, and my friend said, "I wish that I was riding in a sleigh in a Colorado snow storm, right now"

"Bah Humbug," said I.

"You don't like snow,' said she.

"I grew up in it, shoveled it for nearly 17 years, lived in it.
When we moved South, I never missed it," though I admit that the idea
of riding though it in a grand sleigh does sound somewhat appealing.
I just don't want to have to shovel anything!

The night has not been a disappointment. The night has not been full
of excitement; just ordinary stuff that might not make you even smile,
but that might keep you alive an extra little bit.

Sometimes, I put a slow into my day; I almost stop things,
and say, "Take a look around, Poet, what needs to be done
now; what needs to be done today, and what needs to be
done over the week? And if nothing needs to be done, now,
I do nothing, and if nothing needs to be done today, I do nothing
today. And then, the week I look at later. Later.

The above is not really true. I am a very active Poet, always working.

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If I died like Jim Carrol, it could be right now
as I sit at my desk as he did. He had a heart attack;
I could have one too, but I have work to do before
I die.

I want to make out like a bandit,
but not steal from anyone.

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Heck, there is no tree

Your strong tree limb bent, and broke
but it wasn't your fault. It was the fault
of the bankers, and the federal govt.
And now there is nobody to defend you.
Those that broke you don't care that
you are broken; their greed knows no boundary.
All you can do is teach your children
to believe in Santa Claus and explain to them
why there will be no presents under the tree.
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Tenure At

Tenure in front of The Television.
There is no relief,
they'll find a way to
bill you for something.

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I can't take it anymore
things are just going too good for me.
I'm going to have to fuck something up
that's the way it has to be
because that was the way it was
for so long for me.
Wait, that is stinking thinking,
and I don't think like that anymore.
I can have the good.
I don't have to have the bad.

Say it isn't so; the angels are singing
that you are waving goodbye.

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I just bought a tree. It is a small tree made out of Rosemary. It will live forever, and not get thrown out on the side of the street in the days after Christmas. It will grow in a yard, and make that yard owner happy, year round, after The Holiday.

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Sometimes, I put a slow into my day; I almost stop things,
and say, "Take a look around, Poet, what needs to be done
now; what needs to be done today, and what needs to be
done over the week? And if nothing needs to be done, now,
I do nothing, and if nothing needs to be done today, I do nothing
today. And then, the week I look at later. Later.

---------------------------------

I've got the feeling that most of the words that I have written will not see the light of day. The notebooks that I filled for nearly 20 years will be thrown out with the rest of my junk, and the nearly 20 years of writing that I have stored on Blogger.com will lay useless in cyberspace. This is really not a bad thing for the joy in creating the poems, and assorted other writing, was in the creation of them.

I don't have the mental constituency to deal with certain things. I won't list those things here, but trust me that they do exist. I am distraught, this morning, because I am operating on three hours sleep. My next door neighbors' dogs woke me up, last night, after I had fallen off to a good night's sleep, and they woke me, again, this morning as I was comfortably snoozing.

For the first time in my life, I am having clam chowder for breakfast.
I believe that life should be filled with new adventures. Tomorrow,
I might have sardines.

I read, this morning, that "Christians" threatened Twitter with violence if Twitter did not pull a book called, "God Is Not Great," from its Trending List. Would not Christ be shaking his head NO!


You Can't Eat Your Supper Alone

It's all good, and it's all bad
the beginning the end to life,
the beginning the end to this song.
No savior is going to save us.
Roads only get paved
if someone is getting paid.

Society, you get down on your knees
on Sunday, giving a nod to a Higher Power
who was invented for you,
invented to keep you in line.
On Monday, you get in line to go to work;
you stand behind each other in line at lunch,
and then you follow each other home at five.

They stick needles in her dialing for dollars.
They give you traffic tickets when their quota is due.
Politicians are in Washington to make more money,
not to look out for me, and you.

It's all good, and it's all bad.

--Mikel K
Peace and Love.