Venial Equinox

4765 Oct. 78

Once more out of the darkness,

once more into the flicker of light,

and my spirit squints in the tunnel

of my flesh, uncertain if my form

has the strength to carry it forward.


Fire to Earth out of the dreams

of Water into the breath of Air,

has the nefesh risen from

clay? Is it the same

that crawled into winter sleep?


Will I find the desert sands

among broken pillars? Will I

find young grass on the mounds?

Will there be time to plant the crops

before the war-beast stalks?


Or will the scale with feather’s weight

forget my Ka this year? Will cascading

call from glacial heights erode

the village walls we rear?

My nature’s soul to hear?


Losus Naturae



Latin: freak of nature

The Elephant Man, at least in the film, reaches a point when he cries out “I am not an animal, I am a human being!” He is a human with a deformity and has been an outcast all his life. He longs to be a normal member of society, to fit in. From Quasimodo to Phantom of the Opera, film and literature offer us legions of outsiders damaged either by nature or society who just want to belong again. I still go back and forth if society and nature are two separate things by now. Has Social Darwinism removed humanity from the natural order to the point where any form of evolution for good or ill ultimately is our own fault?

Fairly recently I started toying with the idea of modifying the Elephant Man’s statement to “I am not a human being, I am an animal!” This would start to get me away of some of inclusions in social behavior which are coming to be fairly loathsome of late. Legislating other people’s morals and ways of life with the barrel of a gun is just one of them. People-kind’s long history of trying to separate themselves from the other fauna and flora of the world is another. My being an animal again might be a good way to get back to one of the early oaths in my research of sorcery, e.g. “I shall endeavor to be more than human.”

Since the factions in support of the Trump Administration came into power almost fourteen months ago, stress has risen to a level which has not been felt in a very long time. Worst of all, nobody has been able to alleviate that stress with any degree of success for any serious amount of time. This causes problems in our society as our governing bodies are being crippled to the point where they will soon no longer be able to deal with the outbreaks of violence and despair that are growing ever more evident. Perhaps it is just that we see more of it now that we have the Web.

We will all have to wait and see who comes out on top through this totally new state of America’s identity. Will it be the forces of law and growth through an orderly process or will it be the lust to ravine and kill all of those you think are wrong around you. I see a little of both in the future, but I have always been wary of how the media is used to sway things into the normal phase and keep people compliant. I have been overwhelmed by the amount of information being presented and numbed to the point that I fear that our current government is being normalized. There are ups and downs on this hellish ride.

I am starting to have longings for a form of punishment under the law, if the force of law win, which would violate the Eight Amendment of the Constitution, the one about “cruel and unusual punishment”. It is probably just the stress of the last fourteen months without getting closure in the most successful attack on our Constitution ever.

If any of you have seen the nineteen-thirty-nine version of the film “The Four Feathers”, the main character goes to some extreme measures in returning the four white feathers which are badges of his cowardice by disguising himself as a Sangali tribe’s man who has rebelled against the Khalifa. Since this tribe failed in their rebellion, the men were branded as traitors and their tongues were cut out. I have always carried this image of the damaged and dumb beggar in the bizaar since I was a child.

It was reinforced by real blinded and damaged beggars in the same kind of places where I learned how deceptive a government controlled press can be. I had only the English version of the Pakistani Times to read about the nation’s events.  It was not until I could access the freer information sources of the US diplomatic community that I learned just how wrong my understanding of what was going on was. This was before I graduation from high school during the Indo-Pakistani war of December nineteen-seventy-one.

The reason I bring up the concepts of cruel and unusual punishment in the form of a crippled beggar on the streets is I am starting to think that in this instance, instead of prison where all of the Trump Cabal will hopefully wind up, maybe we should take an insight out of Proverbs or the Hammurabi Code. There have been far too many financial crimes against people in the world during my lifetime where the criminals have been fined, or imprisoned for millions of dollars stolen and thousands of lives destroyed.   Yet all these financial crimes just have grown larger with new ways of hiding the moneys so that people cannot get reparations or justice.

It might be time to start thinking in terms of deterrents as well as punishment. I cannot help but think that if a few of these mega-dollar criminals had their tongues cut out and were blinded with a sign around their neck that said “thief” to wander around Wall St. and the stock exchange to beg, they might set an example for others. If the Shkrelis and Mandoffs of the world had been punished like this for securities fraud, would people like Manafort, Putin, and Trump be in the positions they are today after years of money laundering and embezzlement through off-shore shell corporations. People have held up the death penalty for years as a deterrent to crime. It does not do so, but maybe seeing these kind of people on a daily basis by the moneyed-gentry might at least give them pause.

I know that nothing stops people’s desire and ability to do wrong. As I say, it is probably just the last fourteen months with no closure from these criminal’s attack on my country and peace of mind. Seeing them wounded and wandering the streets is just a fantasy. Months of mass shootings, Trump chirping up about “bombing the shit out of them” and “death penalty for drug dealers”, Chinese, Russian, and US incursions into economic and political battlefields, espionage and assassination reactions, withdrawal of safeguards to prevent this kind of financial crimes, government incompetence and corruption on a cabinet level, the rise of racial tension while people are squabbling over the corpse of Charles Manson (He wanted to start a race war remember), it is just testing my patience.

I chose the term losus naturae for the title of this piece because it means freak of nature, and I said I have not been able to decide if nature and society are two different things yet. Trump is a freak of society. He and his cabal are a mutation that we should all have seen coming, maybe we did and were just too complacent in the hope that things would work out. I know I was. I should have been working on these problems more actively for the last forty years, now my old age is going to be work, work, and work. Ah well, as the senility and the pain creeps into my body and mind, it will give me something to battle until they scatter my ashes to the wind.

The word monster has become such a cliché that I went looking for a new word. That is where I found losus naturae; Latin makes a body seem wise but pompous. I thought of using the term chimera, like the hydra it is something that a person can battle. Jason had to fight one to get the Golden Fleece. The freak of society, Donald Trump, is a monster, maybe even a chimera. I would not want to be the pathologist that has to dissect him. I have a queasy feeling in my stomach just thinking about him in one piece. I just hope that there is a history left to break him down into his creepy parts.




The green grass and the barbed wire fence,

pasture and livestock . . . another fence,

meadowlands and woods beyond.

Those woods could be second growth,

and the grass is chewed down every season.

My spirit roams as I sleep,

it is often not with those I slumber with,

it can be lost within the woods,

sometimes it is farther afield. It is not

faithful my spirit, is yours?

These days I slumber alone, but never

truly alone. There is always something

that I reach out to, or reaching in.


When I was young I hoped for passion.

When I loved, I dreamed of passion.

I do not remember anybody explaining

the difference between the two.

Someone may have hinted along the way,

but they never said the words.

I never said the words either,

it seemed rude, or perhaps

like all humans; I lied.


I remember hands reaching through the wire,

sometimes my own, some coming from the other side.

Grasping, trying to hold on as eyes stray

to the forest, or the critters of the flock.

I can still feel the barbs and see scars

where drops of blood once blossomed.

Passions left me longing for my home,

not feeling that I was home.

Pleasures of the flesh were rarely pleasures

of the spirits joined. No one gave the caveat

of jumping bones for jumping bones,

even when younger. Now that I am old

and withered, that is not a likely case.

My spirit still wanders as all spirits

wander. I know the world, the universe

of illusion and desire. I know

that desire can be just a glamour

of self delusion in others as well

as in me. The grass

is always greener on the other

side of age.


The Media

5247 Nov. 79


What to do when you are listening to different news groups telling you yes, no, and maybe. Try to listen to the voices that give you hope, but do not believe them until you can prove to yourself that event did come true. Do not beat yourself up when you find out you were wrong. Learn from the mistake, pick up the pieces, and build a new belief system: repeat.

Try to learn to not lie to yourself, other people will do that for you. Try and also remember that when people are telling you the truth, they may also be telling you the truth for a reason. Ask them why, and when they answer, try and figure out if they are lying to you or themselves. “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst.”

Think of life as a desert and remember “in the desert, no man meets a friend”. Try and remember on that long Silk Road to enjoy the caravanserai when you find them.

Frozen In the Headlights

6588 Dec. 80


When you have been living in the darkness for a very long time, it is painful when someone turns on the light. It is possible to forget while learning to use your eyes again, that sometimes people fish with torches, sometimes they hunt with spotlights, and nocturnal animals are frequently found as blood stains on the highway having frozen in the headlights.


4369 Mar. 74


It is very difficult to pull yourself up by your bootstraps when you cannot afford a pair of boots. Generally the military will give you a free pair of boots, but it is kind of hard to pull yourself up from the kind of holes they may drop you in.

Pushing a Broom

19 No Date


What most of your cheap-elite-exploiters fail to grasp in the throw away concept of human resources is that universal health care provided by the government might actually boost the economy, e.g. their bank accounts. Instead of taking jobs people do not like just to get the health care, they might take jobs they do like, work harder and longer at because it suits their temperament. Let’s face it, there is a certain Zen in sweeping, moping, cleaning, helping, and growing. That is how Mr. Miyagi started training the “Karate Kid”. It just does not pay well. If you take care of your indentured-servants, they are less likely to storm the Bastille.

Countess Dracula

Elizabeth Bathory

The N.R.A. (National Rifle Association) may support the right to “keep and bear arms”, but they own the blood spilled by those weapons. Perhaps they are a bit like Elizabeth Bathory, bathing in the blood of the young to keep their youth. Society may do them the kindness of walling them up in a tower to curb their pathology before the villagers start storming the castle.




Monsters have been around a very long time, from Leviathan to Grendel.  Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein during a small European cold spell.  The monster of that novel is a bit different than the one portrayed in film. In the film still above, the monster is destroyed by the villagers, burned up with the mill.  In film there are monsters you hate and when they die you get a kind of release.  In “It Came from Beyond Space”, they suck all the air out of their spaceship to kill their monster and we go yea! There are monsters in films that we actually feel a little sorry for.  The monster in the Frankenstein film is one of them.  I feel a little sad when they burn up the “Beast from 20,000 fathoms” in the amusement park.  A person can keep fictional monsters at arm’s length whether they are likable or unlikable.  From giant bugs to alien invaders the army always saves the day and we can rest easy after a rollercoaster ride in fantasy land.

Frankenstein in the novel follows his creation north to destroy him after the monster has done some pretty crummy things to those around Frankenstein in the name of some form of monster angst. I suppose in the end Frankenstein destroys himself as well.  Some might argue that the scientist destroyed himself when he created the monster.  His willful pursuit of creation being his undoing as, to me anyway, he does not possess the inner strength to cope with creation. He passes out at the point of creation when he needs the strength to deal with what he has done. The real work of taking care of a child begins when a woman is most exhausted.

Real monsters, in the real world do not get the luxury of sympathy.  In the real world when you sympathize with a monster, you eventually become something like an Igor, partly responsible.  But it is more than that in the real world, it is like vampirism.  It is a disease that infects and can be spread not only by patient zero (e.g. the monster) but as in the zombie apocalypse they are all monsters, ghouls feeding on humans.  They are all monsters without souls.  They lose the shed a tear for them along the way factor.

In the current real world we live in, the monster Trump has risen his ugly head.  Unlike the monster in Frankenstein, he will not get a tear from me when he meets his end.   He was a monster before he became a politician; he embraced his monster-hood.  In this case, there was not just one mad scientist, there were a whole slew of them, many of which are still in the shadows, hidden.  They will not get a tear from me when they are brought out into the light.  They are monsters in their own right.  They were willful in this crime.

The forces that I believe created the monster Trump are the same group of mad scientists who believe shell corporations and LLCs are a good idea.  Hiding moneys in a tax haven defrauds the infrastructure of what nation or nations helped make that money, including the human resources who have to pay their taxes.  Hiding assets is just a way of protecting it from being taken away from you does not cut it as an excuse.  That is what bank guards are paid for and why we have the FDIC.  There is shame and criminal behavior in hiding assets.  How many trillions of dollars are socked away somewhere that cannot be seen by anyone, and what kind of dark deeds made that money for somebody? There is no army going to save the day from the giant insects in this particular reality we are living.  Many of those mass graves being uncovered have their origins due to “the army”.  And unfortunately the same forces that are guiding “the army” in this case are supporting those hidden funds.

It has been pointed out that the monster Trump was a reality T.V. show star. It makes the leap from movie monster to reality monster a much more applicable metaphor. Hollywood fantasy monster mutating into a real world monster. The media likes to label this White House as a reality show presidency. All the extras in this reality show are not extras from a film set, they are real people that this real monster and his own personal Dr. Frankensteins are destroying, maiming, and murdering for profits that is not coming out of ticket sales; it is coming out of human blood.









The Lost Room

3071 Dec. 72


For those of you who like a nice season of what do the little people do when they run into the deeply weird, I highly recommend a made for TV mini-series called “The Lost Room”. I believe it had hopes of a second session, but never went on. That is why I like to call it a mini-series, although it was not designed as such. A strange event has happened in a motel room, leaving objects scattered about that ­­are fragments of some greater power and possessing little powers all their own. It is another look at what has floated through film for years; what happens when someone is given god-like powers?

I bring it up because something crossed my mind the other day. The image of the single room as a metaphor for humanity’s view of the universe. Plato has his cave of shadows, I present to you the room.

Picture a person inside a room. It can be any shape, a cube, a cuboid, even a dodecahedron: any three dimensional shape with walls. On each of these walls, there are doors: wood doors, metal doors, sliding doors, but they are all locked from the outside, and there is no key. Each wall also has a window, but the curtains are drawn from the outside. They cannot be opened. Maybe some of them have black out curtains.

There is a light switch somewhere outside the room, and someone, or something turns it on and off on some kind of regular schedule. The light source can be seen, maybe it is a beautiful chandelier. Maybe it is a bare bulb on a bit of insulated wire. It helps regulate when you sleep and when you wake.

The person in the room has everything they need to be happy. There are other people if they want them; there are no people if they do not. There are games. There is food. There is adventure. There is peace. It is all there.

They really do not need to know what is outside the room, but one night they stay awake after dark and notice that through the curtains a little light seeps in, at least with some of the windows, others do not. Sometimes there is a little light under the door. They begin to wonder what is out there. They do not have to, but humans seem to do that.

It becomes one of their games, their conversations. Why light in some windows, not in others? Why do the windows and doors not open? Is it all an illusion? Is the light under control, or does it just work like that? The windows and doors and lights could just be there for no reason. How can we find out?

I cannot help but think that things have changed since Plato’s cave metaphor. Our reality, at least my own, has become much more inside/outside oriented based on the idea of the room rather than on the room itself.   Was Plato’s cave of shadows based upon a real cave and observation, or was it an idea of an idea. My room metaphor seems to be a construct of a construct. Has the X number of years of humanity stepping back from the natural world allowed us to make more use of ideas about ideas, and has our ability to observe the world around us and to draw theories from it been blunted by lack of use? Maybe that is why I have such a hard time with extrapolating substrata in geology while looking at a surface in the world, too many preconceive ideas.

I have watched more and more movies based on videogames, not on real events. There have been movies based on books probably since the beginning of film. If not books, then the pulp magazines.  So these would be made up stories about made up stories.  Maybe this is why film has a classification called documentaries.  I might even through in the “based on a true event” films as made up stories about stories.

It was over Thanksgiving that I ran into my my niece and nephew, they are much bigger than the last time I saw them. They are in high school and college now. One of them had just discovered Plato’s cave and were just as intrigued by the picture as I was when I first heard it. I never did get around to asking if they had heard the one about Socrates being shown writing for the first time, and him saying this looked like a bad idea. People could learn things without having the wisdom to use or not use them. I think that story was attributed to Xenophon, but I have yet been able to source it.

So I have a metaphor of a room. It is based on an idea of a room, not drawn from some experience of a room. As a writer, I wonder if that is as good of a mechanism for telling a tale, or is it better to have a real, slap in the face contact event to draw upon than just an idea.

The preface of “Lyric Ballads” talks about powerful emotion remembered in moments of calm. So it would seem they favor the experience over the idea. I favor it myself, but my inner Hobbit is less enthusiastic to those “nasty uncomfortable things that make you late for dinner”.   It has been that way most of my life. Maybe it has to do my frail younger years, and I turned inward. Then I was forced by life to turn outward.

The question remains to be explored: metaphor of metaphor, or life creating metaphor? I lean toward gnostic learning, personal contact. What is your take?