The World According to... Vier

The failure of a country can be found in every corner of its governance, regardless of political persuasion, and in the case of our very own – a supposed democratic republic “for the people”, one may discover the flaws and lack of moral character can be found in the overeducated, overpriviledged, underintelligent, misinformed and misguided citizens.
The citizens of this nation are encouraged to pick a side in an argument, knowing what the topic is, but having not a single clue as what is either at stake and or what the details are – as placed in layman’s terms, as opposed to lengthy, duplicitous attorney jargon, which is made to be confusing purposefully for other attorneys who are indirect opposition to the proposal. These proposals are designed give those who possess the knowledge to understand them the keys – so to speak to the “short bus” driving the rest of the country. The opposition is usually left in those little rural bus shelters to watch the bus careen dangerously down a poorly built civilian roadway, paved with potholes and fat, lazy and overpaid union/parliamentary bought off to be apathetic to the bus driver and his intellectually challenged passengers who can not understand the meaning of caveat emptor, and cry foul when they are at a loss.
Ignorance, but at least we can vote!
And so it was that this year the people of this great land were coaxed once again into buying the touchy-feely jargon of empty promises of high ideology, while the public continued listening to the losers and the winners “mediatrics”, and left to wonder who in the world is right and what difference does it make.
In an era of “Hope and Change”, which seems more like “Demise and Repetition” have we not seen that these elected nobles and their posse of pundits are just the same administrative species pretending to be saintly caregivers for who they believe to be illiterate, incompetents, satisfied as long as they sit complacently in front of glitteringly sensationalized sexboxes made of greed-driven, perversions, just as their predecessors.
And I judge.
I am as full of blame as the preacher who curses an entire people in their tumult, casting the first stone in spite of his very own sin.
And yet we continue to vex and vilify those who oppose us, as though their words are blasphemous on the Holy Ground, and glorify a team of reprobates due to the colors that are on their badges, with no regards for consequences and reason. We refrain, if not revolt against a logic that was never taught; we are the artists who refuse to learn from the masters and are altogether apathetic to detail a sky that is centuries old, which we believe is falling though it clearly remains as unchanged as it remains uncertain. And we take the small red placebo from the left hand, instead of the enormous pill in the right, in spite of its healthful outcome, because the left is easier to swallow.
The driver remains on the road made shabbily by his own hands.
Are we a people who can not remember the past without being reminded of it?
I fear the answer is “no”.

Twins

She was not such a homely girl that she could not find at least one lover in the city of New York, and I knew her fairly well, so I could verify that I knew of at least one that she had managed to fall in and out of love with, to top it off, I knew that Lisa had become pregnant. Given the means to pry just about any kind of information out of any person, gave me the assurance that I could do the same with Lisa - that is to say pry the name of the donor; however, that information was either forgotten or simply placed safely into the recesses of a faint memory.
Lisa indeed was pregnant, and impovershed like the rest of my Bohemian clan - ragtag actors, singers and musicians. She did not for certain, unless a man was willing to come forth and claim the children, possess any means by which to support a family, let alone herself. And, by the way, I do mean children - twin boys to be precise.
It was August 30th, 2001 when she was to give birth to two bouncing baby boys, and she was not about to rid the world of its entitlement to them, nor could she herself tend to them, so on that day, in the hospital located on the East 40s, she gave birth to Amhal, who came first, and Juan - obviously second. Sadly the boys were immediately adopted, as per her request, and perhaps even worse was the fact that Amhal and Juan were adopted by two different sets of parents.
After September 11th, I lost track of her for a good while, until the winter of 2003 when I happened upon her in a bar in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Lisa had finally gotten an income and an apartment nearby, which was nice - she said.
I asked her if she had any word from Amhal and Juan.
"I was able to contact them both through their parents."
"That's great and..."
"Well, they're only two you know..."
Duh.
"I asked for an occasional update from both sets of parents, and the boys..." She started to cry. "They're so beuatiful..."
I felt a man-tear coming on.
"Both parents were so generous with me, allowing me an opportunity to see them in person. I didn't know what to say. Wow!"
"What did you do?"
"I only had enough, at the time to see Juan, who was the closest, in Daytona. Ah, he is so beautiful. A really happy family."
"And what about the other?"
"Like I said I only had enough to cover for Juan. Besides - once you seen Juan, well you've seen Amhal."

And that was the last time I saw her...

The Birth of an Epiphany

"Odd, how it all came to this."
Try this. Ask yourself how you arrived at this point in your life - that's right, take out a piece of paper and pencil and sit - I dare you. Write it all out backwards, starting with the moment that you are living in right now and then yesterday and then the day before and so on, or if you would like to know how you arrived at this place in your life, which is a far more reflective means to this exercise and perhaps more instructive, you will most certainly discover some memories that are truly worthy of the commode; as well, you will assuredly find true moments of grace and Lord knows what else.

I sat with some friends at my daughter's first birthday, one of whom is very pregnant, and my wife and I were marveling at the fact that she, her husband, and her two year-old were able to come, and yes they did get an invitation. My wife reflected on how beautiful she looked. Baring all that weight, having to wobble awkwardly instead of walking, all seemed a little uncomfortable; I was sure that the beautiful white-toothed smile she had on her face was really her just crunching her teeth together in pain.*
I silently wondered how it had all come to this. Of course the understanding (physically) is that two people continued to love one another, in the latter case enduring the pregnancy and subsequent birth of a second child, but the question is how and not the how to.
In our case - meaning my family including my wife and currently enfevered daughter. I can not say that there is a direct line, at least one that I can see, because quite frankly, in my minds eye, I had taken more detours than a downtown construction zone. But in the Divine eye, who is to say but the beholder, in which case what difference does it make, suffice it to say that we are all brought into our current episode (if you will), with a very tangible past.
... and for those who do not believe in a Divine Truth, revealer, redeemer, God - you do not know my daughter's story, nor do you recognize my own.
In truth, I lived a racy, reckless, playboy lifestyle. My experiences in WVU, Japan, Pittsburgh, and NYC were in some circumstances tasteless and bawdy and in all cases quite edgy. It was during this time, particularly while enjoying some fame and recognition, not to mention a lot of money for a punk, particularly in Japan, that my ego had grown in a size that would leave Godzilla grasping for breath, and after playing what I had considered to be a "Token Gaijin", I left for Los Angeles to pursue action, and left shortly after to hang out in NYC, because if one can make it there one can make it anywhere. As it turned out, I managed to get a few great stage gigs off-Broadway - for all know it was off-off-off-off Broadway. At one point in time I recall being confused for late night talkshow host Conan O'Brien by a passing bicycle messenger, who wrecked and walked bleeding back to me only to sadly discover that I was indeed not the person he was hoping for. Things got a little crazy, and I lost track of why I had gone to that Big Apple, and shortly after 9-11, as the firefighters who perished in my neighborhood were announced to be gone forever, I guess my brain and my heart left with them, because I did not give a damn about my purpose and a few years later, defeated, I left - for home.
...to be continued.

*a bouncing baby boy!

A Dog's Life

Originally printed in "The Bridge" Winter 2008

“Madison!”
It’s a crisp winter’s morn. The scent of burning wood clings to the air and white puffs of steam exhale from my mouth. Quiet. Madison is running at full speed – chasing down the ever elusive rabbit that has burrowed a hole between three neatly groomed yards, and…
Crash! Into the only thing preventing her from actually catching that rascally varmint – our chain link fence.
Of course, I simply can not find it amusing because it’s two freakin’ thirty on the coldest morning ever, and I am in my backyard with my eyes half closed, looking like a cross-dressing Eskimo, whilst my beloved softly slumbers as warm as a baby nestled softly against her mother’s bosom. Meanwhile, my eyelids freeze into an involuntary gunfighter stare, and I am thankful that no one else is outside to join me in the madness.
I mutter to myself, “This whole global warming thing’s a real killer.”
On this fine morning, when the air outside of our cozy home is at balmy zero degrees Kelvin, “Maddie”, our rescued mutt needs to visit nature, which in my defense, she could very well have done earlier, like when I was awake. To be honest, next time, I may be tempted to simply let her hold it – or whatever. Surely, there would be the inevitable mess, and clean-up, but look on the bright side, she would more likely clean it herself.
Eww!
She would be the perfect dog and I mean it. Kristi and I both agree that she would be, if not for the fact that every inch of our house is covered with one inch blond hairs. Sticky rolls are a joke. And vacuum sweepers simply die off.
Maddie herself however is clean. She should be after all the nether-regional licking she performs.
At 35 pounds, Maddie is not a large dog, yet as my wife and I settle for the evening, tucked neatly into our bed, Maddie usurps the royal queen in its entirety, leaving us with a leaf’s worth of cover and 2 pillows. To this day, I still cannot explain how she, from a species inferior to our own, does this.
Mind you, owning a dog is not like an old black and white Lassie rerun, where that simpleton, panty-waist Timmy is rescued by Lassie, every single episode – no.
I softly imagine Lassie as a pit bull or velociraptor.
But it is a privilege and I love my dog.
Well, it’s naptime. I am wearing black, and she is extraordinarily cuddly this evening.