All for a loaf of bread…

OK, one day you need some bread so you go to the store…

I walk into your house, right into the kitchen, when you weren’t home. I opened all the cupboards and moved the dinner dishes from one cupboard and put them in the pantry next to the breakfast cereal boxes, I moved the water glasses into the refrigerator, I moved the stuff from the junk drawer (c’mon, I know you have one…or two) from the kitchen and put it all in the glove box of your car, and on and on until I had the house organized exactly the way I wanted…regardless what you thought or how you did it before. I based my organization of your house on several studies done by esteemed researchers who had carried out experiments in universities.

Then I went away.

You get home and blow a gasket, “WTF!!!” you scream and you start putting things back in the places where their use was convenient, at least to your eyes and to you using them. Water glasses next to the sink makes sense, why the hell they were in the fridge is beyond you. You continue along your merry way making the house—your house—the way that you want it to be, the way it suits your purposes.

The next day I stop by

I immediately see that everything is different from where I put it before. I walk up to you with a gun in my hand and demand that you give me all of the money in your wallet AND that you put everything back the way that I had it, the way that the researchers said it should be. You refuse to do so citing the fact that it’s your house, it’s your private property, that nothing you do can be construed to be detrimental to any other person.

At gunpoint I lock you in the hall closet.

The next day I have a someone come in and feed you every day and watch you for the 20 minutes a day when you’re allowed to go to the bathroom but are then escorted directly back to your closet. Eventually I confiscate your house and all the property in it because you haven’t paid me for the cost of feeding you and I give it to a third party who sell it to someone else.

I move you to another house and another closet.

The person who now lives in your house one day goes to the store for some bread…

Welcome to America, entitlement programs and the taxes you pay to run those programs)


They say that the nor’easter is a sign, a signal
of things changing…weather certainly…but
minds, attitudes, the intent once measured
in heartbeats, smiles, sadness and similarities

we saw this,

we knew it’s truth

that the wind like change, like death
cuts across teary faces, broken
umbrellas scattered as so many memories
that what were once held and had, now
can no longer be, no longer be owned

we saw this,

we knew it’s truth

that the allowed hours,
the moments captured in dreams
cannot be contained
cannot be counted on…another sign…the
minimum of knowing is being, the
maximum of being is now, right now

we saw this,

we knew it’s truth

that our confusion about the
many branches of the path before us,
under our feet, is the internal nor’easter
is our emotions tumbling across
what we thought we were

we saw this,

we knew it’s truth

that it had come to knock down preconception
…prior knowledge, because the path
is not the past we make it to be, not
the past we so carefully held onto
as the winds as the rain as our minds
watched the storm wipe the slate clean

we saw this,

we knew it’s truth

a job ended, a life ended, a marriage
…dissolved in the repeated waves of living…
ended and we felt the nor’easter rise inside
watched the tides flood, the trees bend
and waited for it to end

we saw this,

we knew it’s truth


There is nothing easy about Ferguson, nothing clear and precise. It is a situation not unlike a thousand others here in the these United States…an inattention by society, an ignorance of real world pain and suffering. Not acute pain, not noticeable, not 11 O’clock news pain…but chronic, day in and day out pain. Crumbling infrastructure, massively misaligned police representation, local governments unable to change…and many more small but in the aggregate large problems.

Not just Ferguson.

There are many places in America that are really just prisons without walls, where millions of people are locked up for the crime of being born in the wrong place, at the wrong time. Not for the color of their skin but for the address of where they live. The greatest threat that these “inmates” face is not racism, although that does exist, but poverty and the endless cycles of dependence that they must endure.

Human nature say that no one ever washes a rented car…why would you? Someone else (who owns it) will do that. And governments have long touted home ownership as an ideal and a purpose toward helping people breakout of those open air prisons…but…

…giving something to someone for free is not ownership. Lowering the barrier to entry (re: the housing crisis brought on my disastrous federal policy) for people to “buy:” houses they could never afford is not ownership. Subsidies and Section 8 and block grants (and on and on and on) for people to live places where they do not nor will they ever have an actual stake, is not ownership.

Ownership is the free choice to trade your own time and energy—your labor—for something that you value.

Ownership is not welfare, it’s not food stamps, it’s not any of the thousands of giveaway programs that we as a society have created because we’re too fucking lazy to actually solve the real problems and thus destroy the prisons we call ghettos…that we call Ferguson.

Opportunity, education, the fair application of the law, a government that understands that it is people who succeed, not programs. Liberty and choice unburdened by high-minded ideals about “helping” people that only drive them deeper into dependence.

Hard goddamn problems.

Intellectually solvable, yes, but to do so means we have to admit to the prisons that we ourselves have built and sustain through our inattention…through our policies and our governing. Solvable by people, not political parties, not federal programs, not free stuff.

Real ownership.

Believe. Go. Do.


This World


I think this world sits
mesmerized by us, eyes
glazed over as we
try, as we scrounge
and scrabble…little
knowing, always
guessing…I think and
believe it is something…
that it is enough but
it never is,
it never is enough to think
when living is the
the world knows this

We try to emulate, to
shadow and follow, but
it is useless unless we know
…and we can’t know
until we know
so watching is what the
smarter of us do
what the less unaware
discover from
failure, from painful
endings, from having
and losing… when
living is the
the world knows this

We sit in fear, a puddle
of memories that
wets us and seeps
into cracks…between acting
and being, all the time
we are making motions
movements toward
and away from
ourselves, the ones we
want to love, want,
just want…when
living is the
the world knows this

We believe
because we cannot
know the answer
living is the

…the world knows this


Listen goddammit! I’m tired of hearing/seeing/having it. People making decisions for themselves is the best and ONLY FUCKING way that works. The fed making decisions for me? Fuck you. The state making decisions for me? Fuck you. My neighbor making decisions for me. Fuck you.
Who do you think knows best for you? Some policy wonk in DC? Your senator? Your congressman? Your president?

Fuck you.

You do. You do. You do.


Will you fuck up? Hurt yourself? Fail?


Over and over but, goddammit, you’ll learn. You’ll eventually succeed and that success will mean something. It won’t be handed to you fait accompli with nothing required from you. No sweat, no pain, no passion.


And that’s what it’s about.


So, fuck off, get going, ignore them, be you…

…in all your goddamned glory.

Believe. Go. Do.



…and I’ve lost
what I found again
something that happens
far too often
I’ve lost
the thread of you, the
idea the scent
the notion and
motion that is
—that was—you.
For a day an hour
each minute that
there is space
there is time
between seeing
I lose
the thread of you.
…and it is horrible
it is sadness
the size of me, same
shape color smell feel
it is the
size of me,
replacing all
of who I was
…could be
but only ever
when I am
with you.

Read This!


Written or spoken they are audible stand-ins for the meaning of an idea or a thing. Audible (even when written they are “sounded” out in the mind), by means of the compression and decompression of air in the form of sound waves as they travel from the speaker to the listener. Simple vibrations that we, as humans, have assigned values to…that (in concert with others) we call sounds and then aggregate those sounds into collections we then call words.

Regardless who is creating them—pope, king, queen, president, you or me—they are just vibrations striking our eardrums that are then converted to small electrochemical pulses sent through nerve endings to our brains where we process them and correlate them to what we know to be the representative meanings.

That’s it.

When someone tells you something you first process who the person is, their credibility to you, you then must parse the words themselves—their credibility—until finally you correlate the meanings of each word to something that matches what you know (even if it’s a word or words you’ve never encountered before). You arrange the words in a way that makes sense and then you look at the overall meaning in context with each other.

By themselves—without context—words have no power except that which we give them. We see and hear thousands of them every day…on social media, websites, the news, on the tube, from our friends, lovers and families…so many in fact that we start to glaze over from overload. There are just too damn many words that we must process every day.

So, remember all of those process steps when you come upon things like this inane assembly of meaningless dribble (see graphic) and think to yourself “do I really want to waste my valuable brain processing energy reading that shit?”…of course not…

…and you’ll feel so much better.

Because—in so many words—I just said so.

Believe. Go. Do.