New Year

Old Spice

It stinks

to holy hell-

the old man

smell-

that leaves

the future

behind.

Like bad

body spray

that won’t go

away,

the redolence—

the prominence

and dominence

of intolerance—

is fetid.

Shamelessly 

reeking

while constantly

seeking

money

and political

support,

intent to 

distort

and contort

the law,

I remain 

in awe

that he can

clench

the nomination

with the stench

of abomination.

Ballot removal

has found

approval

in some states

thus far.

His odor

persists

as he 

insists

he’s clean

as he vents

his spleen

on the rest

of us.

Meanwhile,

the elder

once fiesty

pol

needs to call

a life line.

He smells 

fine,

but too benign

and in

decline,

which is sad

and also

terrifying.

Gimme that

Old Spice

as when 

he was

Vice,

or entice

someone

else to run.

Voters want

vim

and vigor,

(and some 

want vinegar);

we can’t 

let it

all

come undone.

The new year

upon us

when we’ll

vote for 

the POTUS

should be

one for 

the ages.

And their

ages 

will play

into the fray

with a bouquet

of toilet water. 

So hold

your nose;

here it goes:

2024 is here.

Volunteer.

Persevere.

Be sincere.

And vote.

Here’s 

to a high note

ending

with all

that’s impending:

we’ll be

sending

the offending

away.

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.

Same Year Next Time

Every New Year we decide to create the past. The year that was is no longer an ongoing saga, but something that happened. That was then. Now becomes the future. This year is a wish; a hope; maybe an intention. 

When we are in a positive mood looking toward the possibilities of the new year, we accentuate the favorable, as though we know how to conquer the negative now.

We look back at what went wrong, and how we were oppressed and/or depressed, and vow to do differently going forward. 

We celebrate surviving that which terrified us or traumatized us, or whatever we had to get through, and imagine not having to face such situations again, because time is on our side now.

We look at History and compare and contrast to previous moments, characters, and events. We  think this time will be different. It’s so many years (decades, centuries,….) hence; we are better. 

We like to believe that we have progressed to the extent that basic human qualities—the ones that tend to drive history—have been mastered. And yet, in each generation, the dramas are reenacted. 

We believe we bury the past with the promise of each new year. Somehow though, Zombies walk among us. The fascist from a century ago; the Nazi; the homophobe; the misogynist; the racist; the ones who seemed to be not of this era, but who desperately want to redefine it in some retro-limited way.  How is this possible? Isn’t time progressive? Isn’t Evolution ultimately positive transformation?

When anger, resentment, ignorance, and other negative emotions arise in conditions that breed negativity, historical moments seem to repeat themselves. Is it 1919? Is it 1939? is it 1968? Is it 1974? When will we have the next Katrina? Will we have another  9-11 soon?

Of course it is helpful to have historical markers—to remind ourselves and learn the lessons of History. We forget too quickly and assume that progress and evolution don’t have to be reinforced. Ignorance isn’t merely lack of acquisition of information and knowledge. It is lack of awareness. It is also a lack of inclusive thought. 

We don’t have to relive previous years in the next year. We have learned quite a bit about how to progress and how to persist to overcome the inevitable setbacks (and worse). We can use those historic markers to inspire bigger thinking. We have an even clearer picture of the threats and bile and just negative aspects of human nature (and Mother Nature) now. But we have always progressed by nurturing the best and creating anew. The regressive, negative aspects will always challenge us, but we don’t have to think like it’s the same year next time. 

It’s 2019!! Happy NEW Year! 

Time Signature

I have been turning away from all the retrospectives of the last year. Not only do they tend to be highlights of awfulness and idiocy, but they don’t even feel like the past. It seems like an exercise in torture rather than in reflection. There hasn’t been space (or time) for reflection. Rehashing isn’t reflecting. It’s anxiety producing rather than enlightening.

2017 doesn’t seem like an unfolding of moments, but an unending cacophony that is unrelenting and without a coda, despite today’s date. But we still mark time, and move to its rhythms, and this weekend we get to celebrate the potential of the new.

Trump thinks he’s jazzy—always riffing and soloing, adding syncopated rhythms because they are unexpected and chaotic. He digs improvising governing. He just never learned the essentials, or the masters, or understands the distinctions that separate art from mere expression.

He has put his signature on this time of ours, at least in 2017 (and 2016). But there were other instruments that resonated during the year. 2017 started with The Women’s March, and by the latter months, the enormous chorus of #MeToo became a show stopper.

The Taking a Knee verse will be remixed in 2018, most likely beginning with the Super Bowl. The anthem of freedom has been reconsidered, and despite differing interpretations, real freedom does not diminish.

The Trumpist movement will be last year’s hit. Trump will keep rapping, but lacking artistry, he will be a pop phenomenon (which is all he wanted). Investigations and scandals, and ridiculous comments, will be the drumbeat until the coda. Meanwhile, we who have been Kind of Blue, can conduct ourselves in concert in 2018.

Happy New Year!

January Jonesing

Somehow, so many accomplishments of 2015 were forgotten in the final season, as acts of terror, violence, and hate saturated our media and our senses, and left us feeling helpless, somewhat hopeless, and terrified. And disgusted. Violence and hate seem to be not only timeless, but endless, and less and less about a moment than a terminal condition.

January, in the middle of winter, is the fresh start we always crave and celebrate. She seems barely approachable when the fall always seems to surprise us with crashes or severe storms or political upheaval (even just elections), and we think we will be settled into a new calm and yet be invigorated.

January is alluring in her cool, which we desire after tempests and the inflammation that we tend to experience with intensity by December. 2015 exited with practically unbearable inflammation— mostly The Donald’s, but also with terrorists and other horrifying violence here, there, and everywhere.

January’s attraction is undeniable. She is quiet, but seemingly purposeful. She has a quality of purity, but not innocence. She is serious and clearly intentional, seeming to know what we want. She seems so wise, yet untainted. We’ve been jonesing for her cool.

Of course, January will become icy. That’s her way. She will become indifferent and then harsh. Bitter cold. Even in warm climates, January becomes another pretty face. She may be pleasant; even lovely for a while. I just recognize her. She’s beautiful, and can be friendly—or at least mild—but her nature yields to indifference and even harshness . That’s how cool is.

She lets us make the first move. But for some, they are already frozen. That first date was ignored, other than an opportunity to chill. They are needing some warmth—not fiery passion, but a bit of warmth to be able to slowly thaw. January doesn’t really offer much warmth, but she seems rather calm and composed, especially when we first see her. Maybe her cool is warm enough, even at a low temperature, to allow the rational to take over—at least for a bit.

By the end of the year, we are jonesing for January. Our overwhelming need for calm and cool may not be sustainable, but it is necessary, and we feel it and know it. We desire her, even knowing we can’t be with her for very long. We may forget that she is the way she is, just as we forget the way we are.
January is beautiful. She attracts our best intentions and our desire for excellence and progress. Her quiet is temporary, and allows us to think, even as we are smitten by the prospect of something new with her. And although she is the way she is, and we are the way we are, causing us to part, we long for her after a year of steps and missteps; assaults and breakthrough moments. January is a vision.