Author: lou sight

Speak Easy

Watching a period piece,

a drama, set in 1932,

I was oriented in time 

through 

the clothes

the interiors

the accessories

the flasks

the verbiage

the hair

the cars

the phones

the shoes—

every detail that signified

when.

In an era of prohibition,

desires were still satisfied

for the still affluent

and able

class.

Those with means

could frequent

hidden spaces

of freedom;

quarters where spirits

flowed into crystal goblets

and flasks

to hide 

in the outside

world;

jazz inviting

dancing,

in smoke-filled

congested rooms,

where people

could speak

easy

and revel freely

for some hours,

not having to face

profound inequality

or differences

or problems.

Prohibition, 

from 1920-1933,

didn’t curb

behavior

or health.

It invited

crime

and 

stealth.

In 2023,

it should not be

so difficult

to speak

easily 

without prohibition

and

with nuance;

But first we

have to speak

and hear

the truth.

Un Tuck It

Letting it all

hang out

doesn’t suit

an outfit

that dresses

up

the truth.

While displaying

contempt

for Dems,

they actually

deride

their own

antidemocratic

followers.

Beneath

the smug

mug

of the elite

of Faux

News,

a frayed

Tucker,

insisted upon

giving

the people

what

they want:

b.

s.

Taking stock

in losing

stock 

in case

the base

flees

from Fox,

the show

must go

on while

the truth

remains

tucked 

away

on the air.

But the Dominion

suit

has exposed

the intentions

to deceive

the Fox

audience,

sustaining

The Big Lie

with no

accountability

unless….

until….

there is more

demand

to Un Tuck It.

Urgent Care

Today this

hurts.

And yesterday’s

ache

is still 

tender.

My tracker

indicates

sufficient

sleep 

and oxygen,

yet I

gasp

each day

and 

am terribly

aware

of threatening

conditions.

According

to my 

data,

everything

ranges from

good to

optimal.

Apparently,

this is accurate

information

when sleeping.

The data

does not

describe

my being

awake.

Sure,

I can 

see my

heart

rate

at any 

time

of day.

It races,

which 

could become

a hurdle

in itself. 

I am 

unaware

of my 

nocturnal

gasps

for air, 

but I cringe

and tense

myself

with news

with open

eyes

feeling

compelled 

to be 

awake.

I don’t 

really matter

to the news,

but think 

it matters

to me.

Doesn’t it?

I want 

to be

awake

to act

as necessary.

Every day

feels 

urgent

and filled

with issues

about which

to care.

The aches

and pains

and gasps

from each

news

cycle

are symptoms

of a deep

love

and loss

of functionality

of humans.

And nature.

What could be

more urgent

than us

and our

environment

that nourishes

our insides?

No Surprise Party

I claim

to hate

surprises, 

but

I delight

in being

surprised

every day.

Not by

secrets

kept from

me 

suddenly revealed,

but seeing

and hearing

the familiar

people and places

with fresh

eyes and ears. 

I think 

that’s 

the secret

to sustaining

love

and growth,

which 

I easily forget

daily. 

I also

assume,

expect,

and mindlessly

repeat

myself 

daily.

But I do

get moments

each day 

that are revelatory

and worth

savoring.

Beyond

the personal,

our politics

challenges

what we

thought

we knew

about 

ourselves

on some

path 

called

progress.

I am

surprised

by how

unexceptional

we have

revealed

ourselves

to be. 

American 

ideals

are subverted

daily 

as our cold

civil war

rages

with outrageousness

and contempt

and we 

still remain

surprised.

To many,

this prolonged

moment

of doubt,

deception,

hate,

and chaos,

is unexpected;

a shock

or series 

of shocks

to our system.

To others,

the system

has always

allowed

for this.

The culture

wars

are political

and (un)civil;

fought

through

weaponizing

language

and consolidation

of support

further 

othering

and degrading,

ensuring

constant

indignation.

By now

this should be

no surprise.

We should

expect

this fight,

at least

for some

time.

President Biden’s 

surprise

visit to 

Ukraine

was a well

executed

secret

and a

reprieve

from

the dreck

here at home.

I am admittedly

surprised

by relentless

preservation

of anger

and hate.

It’s too 

exhausting

for me, 

But I get

that it is

addicting,

and provides

some

weird

reassurance–

collective (party) ego

reinforcement—

that has 

no room

for surprises. 

Drill Baby, Drill

Thank you,

Sarah

Barracuda,

for your 

intro

course

in being

coarse

as a 

political

strategy.

We thought

you failed

but we

still flail

at the

crude,

rude,

vulgar

ideas,

much less

speech,

intending

to rally

the base.

Baseslessness

and

shamelessness

are weapons

of mass

destruction.

Drilling down

on deception,

extracting

sludge

for the sake

of election,

and when

that doesn’t

work,

then insurrection.

You know

the drill:

Here comes

the next

conspiracy

with remarkable

adherency,

not to 

mention,

attention.

Free speech

is the claim

to seeking

fame

and power.

I don’t know

how to beat

the hate

that comes

with guns

and seeks

to create

a Red

balloon

across

America.

This is

not

a drill.

What the World Needs Now

I used

to think

Cupid

was

stupid;

a mascot

tot

projectiling

weapons

to pierce

hearts.

A day 

of

forced

“love”, 

I thought,

was 

a good

excuse

for selling

stuff.

But in 

the name

of love,

I too

celebrate,

reminding

myself 

to pay 

attention,

and return

to my senses,

especially

mid 

winter. 

Intimacy 

requires

nurturing

(today,

ironically

by a baby).

The kids

remind us

of what

matters:

love.

We inherit

conventions

that we get

to rethink:

I quote

here

the wikipedia

definition

of arrow:

“A typical

arrow

usually consists

of a long,

stiff,

straight

shaft

with a weighty

arrowhead

attached

to the front end.”

“A container

or bag

carrying

additional

arrows

for convenient

reloading

is called

a quiver.”

Love

is not 

forced.

But it is

a force

we must

reckon

with

as we

remember

it’s power

to bring

forth

new life. 

Happy Valentine’s Day!

The Madonna’s Face

Too tight,

too plump,

too weird,

to recognize

the well-known

mother of

invention

of herself

and style.

The changed

name

to ironically

subvert

The Virgin

overtly

with

underwear

as 

outerwear

and the 

semiotics

of the

feminine

as sex.

Baby voiced,

a female

Elvis,

the material

girl,

Marilyn 2.0,

(minus 

any innocence),

creating a verb

from the word

Vogue,

imposing

herself

constantly,

she demands

that the pop

culture

demands

her.

When all

is performance

(and monetized

of course),

why expect

aging

with grace?

Now

her face

consumes

this space

for discourse

about

youth,

and age,

relevance,

the feminine,

sex,

beauty,

legacy,

resistance,

performance,

and art.

She still

has the

ability

to miraculously

hold

the attention

of the masses

when 

attention

is a deficit—

now a cultural

disorder—

that

we obviously

need

to face. 

Fear and Anger

Fear and anger 

are fossil

fuels

polluting

with energy,

altering

climate

in ways

that make

worsening

storms

increasingly

likely.

They sit

there

lurking

beneath

the surface

of life

as

we drill

through strata

of substance

for stuff

that lubricates

ego.

No sense

of

consequence

while burning,

assuming 

necessity

for existence.

Because 

this is

all

there is,

while we

elongate

the moment.

The mantra

of now

forgets;

and lacks

imagination, 

but mostly

lacks

humility.

Truth and Dare

It’s January 6th

and the House

has been

overtaken by

hostage

takers

again.

The Coup Crew

are still

at it, 

denying

an

election.

This time

is non

violent,

but

intentionally

disabling

and 

dismantling

the democratic

process

and

institution.

The not

Kevins

are not

going

to give

in.

Their attention

is too

useful

to them.

They are

base,

and feign

rebel

status.

People

are rooting

for the

standoff

to end,

not for

Kevin McCarthy

to be

Speaker.

There don’t 

seem

to be

good 

alternatives

now,

but 

Americans

want their

government

for which

they pay

taxes

and vote,

to function.

We all know

the truth

of January 6th.

How 

dare

these members

of Congress

dismember

The House. 

Again. 

Rhythm and Blues

The losses 

of the last 

year

were mostly

unforeseen.

Some were

not

utterly surprising,

yet 

not necessarily

expected

to be

that way

looking 

back

a year

ago.

Some 

loss

was

shocking.

Some was

revelatory.

Perhaps

as surprising

and

unapparent

was

resilience

quietly

strengthening

without

force;

just

enduring

with 

hidden

suppleness.

The soft

strength

of endurance

like

water

constantly

flowing

over

rocks

has been

the most consistent

story;

more

pervasive

than

more

obvious

loss.

We

keep

going.

Sometimes

we think

we need

to know

how.

Life

after

loss

feels

impossible

and heavy

but

the softness

of air

flows

anyway,

whether

or not

we

notice. 

When we

hold our

breath

we 

try to

suspend

time.

But

oxygen

wants

to

flow—

to circulate,

to beat

tha

thump

and maintain

the rhythm

of

being

into

a new year

with new

possibility.