"Divine Silence"

I was watching a documentary of the Holocaust. I do sometimes to make sure I saw what I saw. That people ordinary people can do what they did. Anyone under the right circumstances can do what the Germans did. ...and have.

Since that time, and before  there have been major genocides. That, and any number of "Little Genocides" A village here a border town there, and marketplace slaughtered a town gassed.

You know this we know this.

We all of us seem to be potentially guilty, and innocent depending on where when, and who we are.

In this film a witness said how those in the gas chambers called to g-d.

It "echoed as in a Catacomb" she said.

Call to g-d.

We do this we all do all the time.

So do all the creatures of this, and all the other worlds. However She is silent. Eternally silent to our ears.

Though if she did speak it would likely be to tell us She speaks always.

She shouts through all of her creations. The skies the seas the lands the creatures seen, and unseen.

Every moment of everyday she sings in all manner to us.

To which I stand in Her face, and scream back,... 

"BULLSHIT!" You cruel murdering monster!

Speak to us in the clear.

Speak to us in the words you gave us the ability to make refine, and use. Speak comfort to your victims.

If not that.

At least then an explanation of this vast saga of chaos you made.

We're listening on every conceivable frequency.

We're listening.

"Homeless"

It can literally happen to anyone no matter how careful you think you are. The system as now functioning plans for some to end up as such, and keeps them there by making it almost impossible to get out.
I was one of the very few to come back from being Houseless. I found there was no official consoling for returned homeless.

There are so few that there's no budget for it. So like soldiers before shell shock was admitted to exist one is entirely on one's own to recover,...which 10 years later I still haven't.

I only post this as sometimes it all comes back as being in the war did to my brother John. One can go long periods free of it. However then you're back where you were.

Snow. I was having a vivid flash back or whatever these things are of sleeping in snow.

This behind some trees in Liberty Park at the end tip of Manhattan.

I could see the lit torch of the Statue of Liberty.

Vignettes from a life, and afterlife.

Years ago I told the story on the air on radio which was my profession for some decades. The story of a dream. A dream of my brother in the Vietnam war. I felt a kind of shame I had never served. Everyone I had grown up with did. They went they fought they suffered they came back with wounds seen, and unseen.

I stayed home.

They told me,...all of them in their way that I was well out of it. If they could have they'd have stayed home too. Still my sense of betrayal remained.

Till now till that dream.

In a dream that dream I mentioned I was finally with my brother. With him as I so wanted to be when he was over there. It's a short sequence. Just he, and I out in the open. There was the scream of incoming mortars. My brother John was calmly explaining how to stay alive in a war zone. How to tell if gun fire was coming towards you from a distance or moving away.

Practical matters.

In my longings I wanted to be with John to help him get back alive. Here however he was tutoring 'me' on how to do the same. I loved him for it. He pointed out trip wires for mines. The same hidden in trees just above head height. These to kill over a large area. He said as to how they "...really hated them fuckers."

In particular to this dream those mortars coming down.

Their scream was visceral,...so very very real. John said to me that so long as you can hear them you're okay. If they stop you either die or you don't. On que the screaming stopped.

John said, "...this is how we die."

However there was no explosion no death. The dream morphed as they do to other people other places other times. However at last I had shared my brother's war. Now I knew some small piece of it.

I tell this story because it just happened again.

My brother John came to me again, and again we were in his war. Though this time we didn't speak. We were in a rain forest. I've never been in one, but this I knew was the real deal.

There was a hard rain, but the forest canopy shielded us from it. Drops came down signally. Ricocheting off the tree trunks, and leaves.

We waited.

John didn't speak or look at me, but I knew he knew I was there. We were together in this green cold hot place. John was covered in leaves. He held an M-14, and looked into the foggy distance. Green so green. We sat together quietly on point.

After the dream I realized what it was.

One soldier sits on point, ...a listening post, while the others rest. John has told me about this. He said as to how sometimes "Charlie" would slip besides some solider on point slit his throat, and just leave him to fuck with the heads of the rest.

On Point.

Waiting.

So much rage so much anger.

So many being struck upon, and striking back.

"...near"

A dream.

Fire

The ground trembled.

The Queen, yes 'that' Queen.

She gave me one of her great grandsons to protect.

Said she, "...Be like the brother of Jesus to him."

"Be near, but not close."

Night.

Stars were falling.

"Brooklyn"

"The Emerald City"

"We cling to memories as if they define us,

but what we do is who we really are."

...Dara Horn"

Speaking of what we do. I hauled my smoky fire place flavored laundry in just now. This smoked by the Blaze of the Century downstairs last week. Everybody's shook up, but okay.

The upside is fresh duds at last.

That, and refreshing showers when I come in from our first mini-heatwave. The precious little things are the particles of experience that make a life.

In mind of my recent experience.

Last night I heard fire engines, and smelled smoke. Another fire somewhere close. Sirens. They herald such drama. Though we never notice them much. Police fire medical.
It's just the background soundtrack of the Emerald City.

Like screams overhead as hundreds of planes land, and take off. 

Everywhere guys yelling laughing kids screaming traffic cats dogs complaining,...out loud. Also those little sounds in the middle of the night that no one can identify.

Hint,...it's faeries.

Still we never notice the sirens till one of them has our name on it. When the siren drives up to your house or building then,...stops.

Your heart skips a beat.

Suddenly you're center stage in the vast ongoing story of this town.

...for a few minutes anyway.

No sooner than you're famous infamous dead or missing. The spotlight quickly moves on to bestow momentary "Stardom" on some other character player in the saga.
Eventually everyone get's their turn.

I loves this town,...in a way.

"Dreams"

On another page a friend posted a video of Evangelical worship. Spastic dancing as da Lawd takes over their bodies. Well...

America was founded by religious zealots,...fanatics. That, and predatory business slaver expansionists. This explains us.

On the up side we know how to throw a party. That, and we're still an ongoing experiment of the Enlightenment.

Results so far inconclusive.

About Christian snake dancing. Most faiths viewed from the outside are as inexplicable as Evangelical spirit frenzies. People have such primal needs. So we invented law religion, and created g-ds to fill the void.

This to explain or at least restrain the chaos.

"We have such beautiful dreams yet such frightful nightmares."

Carl Sagan

"...Blessing"

Finally a bright beautiful warm day.

Spring whenever we get it is a Blessing.

"Alive"

So I was lying there in hospital with these nurses. These to me 10 year old youngsters on either side. One drawing blood the other stabbing an I.V. into me. I mentioned that "I used to be afraid of needles".

"Not anymore?" one asked.

"No" I mumbled in a semi-conscious haze.

"They've become old friends."

I mean as Richard Pryor said after setting himself on fire while free basing.

"...fuck it I'm alive."

So far so good.