The Perfect Stranger

While we're looking at old lyrics here is another...

in the early 1980s Larry Gelbart [the creator of MASH] produced a very short lived T.V. show called "United States" with Beau Bridges and Helen Shaver.

One of the episodes planted the seeds for this song... and as my first marriage slowly came apart the lyrics too slowly evolved and came together

+++++++++++++++++++++

The Perfect Stranger

I am the perfect stranger,
Look in my eyes...Won't you take my hand?
I can be your dream of me...
I can be your perfect man.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still I am what you want to see,
So perfectly...the Perfect Stranger.

You are the perfect friend,
Take my hand...Won't you take my heart?
You are the perfect dream for me...
You play the perfect part.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still I am what you want to be,
So perfectly...the Perfect Stranger.

We are the perfect lovers,
Look in my heart..Won't you take my life?
We are the only dream we see...
You are a perfect wife.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still we are what we want to be,
So perfectly...Perfect Strangers.

Here is the perfect ending,
Look at your life...Don't you know my name?
It was all a dream to me...
It was the perfect game.
But being perfect means being no one,
That no one really knows...
Still I am what I want to be,
So perfectly...the Perfect Stranger.

+++++++++++++ fini ++++++++++++++

Questions? Comments? Observations?

Goodbye to Childhood

You'll here me say this again and again: There is always a story behind the stories , poetry, and lyrics that I write. I started writing "poetry" and journaling when I was twelve. By the time I was fourteen I started writing lyrics. The oldest song I still perform was based upon a poem written in 1969 entitled "Store Window Reality"... it got updated several times over the years...  the last one being a "cyberpunk" rendition done in 2001 that used pitch correction software as a voice processor before it became popular...

So....

A long, long time ago... the fall of 1975....  I fell in love with someone... but it seems I was only a means to an end... I'm not sure what the end was for her but for me it was not so good. I suppose I wasn't at all mature enough for the real world. It was obvious to everyone else when I chucked everything and moved 500 miles to be with her. After two weeks she informed me I had to "go"... I returned home broken and for a month or so I fell into a black depression....

From the darkness emerged the following lyrics that covered the black hole of despair she left in my soul:

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Goodbye to Childhood 


chorus
Goodbye to Childhood 
and the dreams of yesterday
and goodbye to the dreamer
who got lost along the way
and goodbye to you my dear
I know you won't shed a single tear
but that's to be expected 
from a dream that disappeared

Now the house is burnin'
see the ashes fly
standin' out in the street
watchin' all the memories die
And the Neighbors all stand gawkin'
watchin' the fire burn itself out
as for me I knew the ending
there was never a doubt

A Policeman walked up to me
Says, "Hold it right there."
"Turn around put your hands behind you
You know the trial will be fair."
They called it murder 
a killin' in the first degree
but now the hurt is gone
and I am free...

chorus

They say I am crazy
and they locked me behind these walls
and sometimes i can hear them
when they walk down the halls
maybe they know the reason
why I did what i had to do
for when you destroy a man's dreams
you destroy his reason too

So Goodbye to Childhood 
and the dreams of yesterday
and goodbye to the dreamer
who got lost along the way
and goodbye to you my dear
I know you won't shed a single tear
but that's to be expected 
from a dream that disappeared

Loraine...
You disappeared.


+++++++++++++++++++++++

She never admitted she had done anything wrong. She never admitted that luring me into her world, using me, and then throwing me away was wrong. In fact she blamed me for being so hurt... Of course, I was not the first nor was I the last person she used. 

Even after all these years the hurt is still there.  I often wonder what my life would have been like if...  but it wasn't... and this hurt and failure became my first step down the path into darkness... 

comments?

Fiction 3

Written on June 22, 1998 at 1:20 AM

A conversation with an Imaginary Being

Her name is  Anemone de Windfluer, [Aura to her friends] who might possibly be considered as a manifestation of the Archetype of the Page of Swords from the Crowley Thoth Tarot.

This is one of several pieces that were "conversations" I had with her.

+++++++++++++++++++

Studio City, California, New World Order Time Domain

“There is an Unspoken Law of Karma which says: ‘If you follow a certain course of action almost anything is likely to be realized but some realizations are more likely that others.’ So what is actually going to happen if you do thus and so?  Those who teach the Law of Karma  have simplified this Unspoken Law. They did this because it is hard for the finite mind to understand the Reality behind reality. Karma is a Truth, but while it is true that all actions evoke a response, we can not know with a certainty what that response will be. We cannot know for an absolute certainty that heat will burn us or cold will freeze us but on the scale of finite understanding it is easier to say this is true.” - The Book of Reminders

I was angry. I had been awoken rather rudely. She had shoved my face into the sand and then ran away laughing. I chased the nameless young pixie along the wide flat beach. It was rather strange to be chasing a young woman along a strange beach when only moments ago I had been sleeping safe and snug in my grungy little apartment with all its creature discomforts.

She had a good 100 foot head start. She stopped and turned. She stuck out her tongue at me. Her hair no more than an inch long was much shorter than I remembered it. The maroon pants she wore today almost clung to her skin. With every step she took I could see her fanny jiggle. She had covered her chest by draping a rather sheer black cloth over her slim breasts and then pulling it under her arm pits and tying it in a big bow in back.

The wind lifted the clothe to display her perfection even as she taunted me. “You’re nothing but a lame ass old man. You couldn’t catch me if...”

“Wanna bet?” I snapped in reply.

“Sure. Just like in the old days: If you can beat me, you can...” Her reply broke off when I closed the gap between us and nearly caught her. She  darted away and then cheerfully called over her shoulder, “Eat ME!”

She ran off down the beach. I’m not much of a sprinter but I do O.K. in the long haul. It’s just a matter of pacing. She on the other hand was strictly a sprinter. She stopped every so often to catch her breath and to taunt me. Then off like a shot laughing at me, her fanny shaking and her feet tearing up the virgin sands.

It was a strange place. It had been hot when we started but it seemed to cool off. A thread of fog drifted in then another. Soon we entered a fog bank the Sun and the rest of the world was gone. There was only she running ahead and I chasing behind. The sand flying beneath our feet.

She seemed to be tiring. Her lead dropped to twenty five feet, twenty, fifteen, ten, five. I reached out to grab her.  At the last moment she darted to one side untouched. I landed face down in the sand. She laughed as she sprinted away to regain her distant lead.

“That’s as close as you’re ever likely to get, you dirty old man.” She called.

“You’re no prize either.” I replied rather lamely.

The contest wore on. She stopped more and more often. The beach had narrowed. Rock from ancient and now buried sea cliffs poked their heads from the sands. The ancient sea cliffs began to rise steeply out of the sands and narrowed the beach to no more than twenty five feet.

As we ran the cliffs continued to rise until the low hanging fog hid their crests. The fog dropped low and shrouded the world. Now there was only she and I and the sound of the sea and our laboring breath.

Dimly through the fog I could see the cliffs blocked the way of my quarry. They turned out across the beach an into the sea. Just when I thought I had her trapped, a sea cave came into view which ran underneath the cliffs. I could see dim light on the farther side. She sprinted into the cave.

I redoubled my efforts and narrowed the gap to a few feet but she began to pull away. Just as we exited the cave in desperation I tried to get an arm around her waist. I failed. As my arm reached for her she began to fade away  into thin air. Blink. She was gone. I tumbled into the sand.

I looked around. The fog on this side of the headland was even thicker. The moisture was almost a living presence. I could see no farther than a few feet.

I felt a profound sense of loss. She was gone and I was alone. Tears welled up in my eyes. I stood up and retraced my steps to the mouth of the sea cave. There was no sign of her footsteps. I walked through the cave. Again there was no trace of any footsteps. Not even my own. They were washed away by the tides.

I began to feel cut adrift and hopeless. As if the last hour was a replay of my whole life: chasing after an illusion which never existed. I sank down into the sand overwhelmed with futility and grief.
Through my tears, I cried to the empty air, “So you were nothing more than an Illusion and my whole life is dedicated to thin air.”

A hand touched my shoulder. Her voice clear and kind fell upon my ears, “Didn’t you know that Illusion is what makes life fun?”

I spun around in the sand startled and suddenly angry. “You tricked me. You deserve a spanking.”

She looked me in the eye and replied evenly, “Does a tree deserve a spanking because its a tree? Do you deserve to be spanked because you cherish your own illusions and give them greater importance than those around you?”

I felt as if I had been hit between the eyes. I found that there was nothing I could say in response to her questions.

After a long time of silence  question came to my mind. “Why?” I asked.

“Why what?”

“Why all of this? Why a dismal life? Why am I here? Why are you there?” I responded.

“I could take the easy way out and say ‘Why not?’ but that would not answer the questions you have asked. The first question is most easily answered as ‘The Gods and Powers will it to be so.’ That is not the answer you wished but a nebulous question begs a nebulous answer.”

“The second question is a little more interesting but still is in the line of most human questions. Let’s see... I’m sure it’s in the FAQ.”

“The what?”

“The FAQ.” She opened her hand and what appeared to be a laser printed manual appeared in her hand. It did not seem to be more than thirty pages long. She showed me the cover page which read:

Frequently Asked Questions

appearing in

the most ancient and excellent

 Book of Reminders:

Common Mortal Philosophical Questions

and their Immortal Answers

by Faraji al Jann,

Court Mage

to the Immortal Queen of Saba,

Elemental Sage and  Professor of Truth

 for the Eternal Gods

“Now let’s see here... Yes here it is. Section 23.3”

She flipped to the page. “Why a dismal life?” She read aloud.

 “Contrary to common belief, Life is not dismal because the Gods have willed it to be so. Nor is life dismal because you deserve to be punished and suffer for some current or past or even future failing.

The ‘goodness’ or ‘badness’ of life is the result of a statistical process much like tossing a pair of dice. The common man, calls this statistical process ‘Evolution’ but when it appears that his life is subject to the whims of Fates and Unknown Gods or Demons he calls it ‘Punishment’ or ‘Being cursed’ or even ‘Damned for all time.’

Nothing could be farther from the truth. One might as well say that a rain drop is ‘good’ or ‘bad’ because it does or does not fulfill its proper function by falling at a specific place or time.

We all have our duties and obligations to  fulfill. Even those who are called ‘Gods’ or ‘Immortals’ have their place [See Section 1.3 - “If there is only one God, why are there so many of you?” also see Section 17.0 - “What is my Purpose?”]. The main fallacy the common man makes is that the dice are ‘fair.’

The truth is that the ‘dice of fate’ are manipulated by the conscious or unconscious awareness of the one who casts them. [See Section 81.7 “What is the Role of the Observer with Quantum Processes?”]. When one becomes aware of the specific properties of these ‘dice’ and their abilities, they can be manipulated as a conscious act of will.

Most are not aware of these hidden properties and they roll the die and achieve the success or failure they unconsciously desire.

Be aware that there are limitations to the manipulations which can be achieved. Just as you cannot roll ‘13’ with two six sided die, you cannot achieve absolute perfection in one all encompassing act of will. Why? It seems that the One who created us all wanted us to take the time to have some fun with the ‘fate’ we create for ourselves.”

She stopped reading, “Does that answer your question?”

“Let me see that.” She handed the FAQ to me.

I flipped the pages to the answer of Section 1.3 and read,

“The answer to this common question is centered in the perspective of the questioner. The straight answer is as follows:

“There is only one Force or Power in this universe. That Power is just one of many Powers among the myriad universes which exist and they in turn are but aspects of an even greater thing that even we, the immortals, cannot even conceive its true nature. [Related question: “Which God should we Worship?” See Section 1.4]

It is not obvious to most of those that ask this question that those entities which appear ‘godlike’ are not gods in the same way as the One Power of this universe.

To a blood cell, the Heart is a ‘god’ that impels the cell to move along a given path. The Lungs are a ‘god’ because they give the cell Life Giving oxygen. The Liver is a ‘god’ because refines the blood removing poisons. And so on for each organ of the body, each organ is a ‘god’ from the cell’s perspective because it does not have the same perspective as the ‘godlike’ organ.

Yet from a different perspective, these body organs are not fully ‘aware’ the whole body of which they are a part. Are these body organs ‘gods’ because they fulfill one or two important functions? Still another perspective is that the organs themselves are made of countless millions of specialized cells not unlike the blood cell which work unceasingly together for a common purpose.

From the view point of a Liver cell or brain cell, the Circulatory system is a ‘god’ because it brings life bearing food and oxygen and takes away poisons. Looking at it from this view, the blood cells could be called ‘the Priests of the Sacred Blood’ or ‘The Givers of Life.’ As you can see from this example, ‘Gods’ and what is ‘godlike’ are a matter of perspective.

Asking ‘Why are there so many Gods?’ is like asking ‘Why does my body have so many organs?’ The short answer is that the ‘Gods’ are required ‘organs’ for this universe and its related environs.”

I skipped down to Section 1.4 and read,

Using the same example expounded above [See Section 1.3 - If there is only one God, why are there so many of you?], There is no god or Power which requires worship except to fulfill that form or function to which one is aligned.[See Section 17.0 - What is my Purpose?] There have been attempts over the Millennia to deny the Gods their due but these attempts are doomed to failure. Again using the example above [Section 1.3], would a blood cell deny the existence of the Heart or Liver exists or that they have an important function within the body? Not likely.

I looked up at her and asked, “Wherever did you get this?”

“Oh they give it out as part of our training.” She replied.

“Training?”

“Of course, How the hell else are we supposed to learn to speak with and understand contrary poets who are refusing to fulfill their function.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

She giggled, “Why don’t you look at Section 17.”

I flipped the pages to Section Seventeen. I happened to notice that the page number. It was Page 33. Odd. There did not seem to be that many pages. I counted them but sure enough there were thirty three pages. On a whim I flipped to almost the last page. Page 1456. Not possible. I turned the page and thought a number: 9612. Sure enough the page number noted at the bottom was page 9612.

“Is this a magic book, or what?” I asked.

“Yes. Now read...” She dimpled in reply

“Section 17.” I finished the sentence. I flipped a single page to Section Seventeen. I liked this idea of a random access printed book.

Section 17.0 - “What is my Purpose?

As we have seen above [See Section 1.1 - The Quantum Nature of God and Section 1.3 - “If there is only one God, why are there so many of you?”] The Universe is the ‘Body’ of the One Power. The Gods, Angels, Jann, Elementals, and the rest of the lesser immortals act as functional organs or power centers for the One.

In this universe humankind stands at the threshold of the macroscopic realm of the Gods and the microscopic realm of the fundamental quantum physical fields upon which this reality and its related time domains are based [See Section 91 - What is Time and/or Time Domains?].

What then is humankind’s purpose? Are they simply ‘Lurkers at the Threshold’ which the statistical process of Evolution has cast aside? Or are they something more?

They play a more fundamental role in creation that was previously believed [See Section 81.7 “What is the Role of the Observer with Quantum Processes?”]. After much research and debate the consensus is that humankind is the optimum ‘sub-function’ between the Macroworld and the Microworld.

It has been shown time and again that humankind has the ability to manipulate both the macroworld and the microworld. They can interact with physical and non-physical time domains [See Section 91 - What is Time and/or Time Domains?].  

What counsel should you offer when asked by a human “What is my purpose?” [Counseling techniques are covered in a separate FAQ. Please refer to it for specifics]. Ask her what she is drawn to do? What makes her come alive? What activities makes her feel fulfilled? Ask these questions, and if she answers herself honestly then she will have found her purpose.

[Please note that prior method of “decreeing fates” has been discontinued in all time domains after Time Coordinates !QZ.35.1.GGY-HHH.QII-66-!31-QII.97.34 Central Reference Time Domain. See Circular QQY-7356 for further details.]

I looked up at her. She smiled and said as the cave faded from view, “So go and sleep on these things and I will see you again tomorrow.”

“What is Reality coming to?” I thought as I rolled over in my sleep and started a different dream.

+++++++++++++ fini +++++++++++++++++

Was this a real conversation? As it did not happen in this specific, particular reality,  the answer is of course No... but if one were to eliminate that specification of reality co-ordinates then the answer is an emphatic "Yes!"

The book noted above may or may not be imaginary depending on how you look at it. I've been working on a collection of original  'wisdom' quotations which I named "The Book of Reminders" and it contains such gems as:

"In the lair of a dragon there is great wealth, but friend, also remember there is a dragon."

or

"From the view point of God, the universe is nothing but a handful of sand."

or

"You are here, but are you Now?"

or

"The Mirror is envious of what it sees."

or

In an abrasive stream one will find smooth stones."

or what has become personal tag line:

"A Strong House is built on a strong foundation. What are your beliefs built upon?"

Comments? Questions? 

Synchronocity

Sometimes the really weird happens... Things, places, events, even words seem to secretly collude to make a normal situation odd.

Let me show you then the lyrics to a song I wrote and tell you an odd story to go with them..

[UPDATE]
You can find a passable Mp3 recording of the song HERE  [My Google Drive]

++++++++++

Sleep, Little Flowers

Sleep, Little Flowers
Sleep, until Spring
The Winter Winds are coming
Who knows what they will bring?
Tomorrow is Tomorrow
Today is Today
Yesterday is a mem'ry
Just fading away

Sleep, Little Flowers
Sleep, until Spring
The Winter Wind is with us now
Hear the cold winds sing?
Sorrow is Sorrowed
Lover is Belov'd
Let us light the candles
Remember we are loved

Sleep, Little Flowers
Sleep, until Spring
When the cold ice melts
The young song birds, they will sing
Four thousand years
Just like yesterday
Stop for a moment
Hear this wand'r pray

Wake, Little Flowers
The winter time is passed
Here are the joyous days
Come to us at last
The Melody is memories
The Singer is the Song
The Road to Jerusalem
Has been here all along

Yes, Wake, Little Flowers
The Spring is fin'ly here
A Rainbow is shining now o'r'
A sky brimmed with joyful tears
The image in the likeness
The doer in the Deed
The Truth of life is simple
Love is all you need.

Wake, little flowers
Hear this simple song
I, who, am unworthy
Have found where I belong
Yes let us light the candles
Break Bread and share the wine
I lift my heart rejoicing:
"Baruch Ata Adonai:
All I am is Thine!      

So what is odd?

I wrote this on the evening of the day I met with a Rabbi to discuss converting to Judaism. Two days later my wife brought home a Siddur [a prayerbook] which I did not open until two weeks later...

I was home alone having lit the Shabbat candles  on page 134, toward the bottom in a translation of a prayer from the Afternoon Shabbat service I read:

“Your strength is Always with us,
O God Your compassion does not Fail.
Winter winds are Your messengers,
summer dew a sign of your grace.”

My mouth dropped open at reading those words: “Winter winds are Your messengers.”

Why? Because I had “unknowingly” written something very similar in the lyrics to “Sleep Little Flowers”.

I was [and am still] amazed to find reference to a prayer I had never read before from a Shabbat service that I have never attended in the words which I wrote as lyrics.

It could be said "It's a coincidence."

Maybe.

Maybe not.

 

Melea

At 6:00 AM on a Saturday morning I woke from a dream that demanded I write it down. So I spent an hour or so writing down a skeletal version of the dream and then over several days additional details emerged until it was completed. The only name that actually came from the Dream was that of the fallen Goddess, Melea... the rest take their names from the pantheon of Biblical names.

One might suppose this is just another piece of fiction. If so then  why did it wake me up and insist on being written down?

++++++++++++++

The Fall of Melea

In the Beginning there were the Gods. Gods now long forgotten. Male and Female they were. Female and Male they created, they begat, and then they were gone. Gone on into the spaces between. Gone on to new planes... new folds... new dimensions following the Calling of the Gods which created Them. Wherever they traveled Chaos whirled and swirled and settled. Discontinuous functions became continuous, the theoretical became practical, and the unknowably infinite became the knowable finite.

Such was the nature of the Gods. For they loved to create for they loved one another. As they passed through their unknowable spaces, they paused and begat a valentine of their love for one another: Melea. Melea the Beautiful, Melea the Fair, Melea the Virgin Child. They saw Her as Good and Very Good. The Gods gave unto Melea a world and they peopled it and sowed it with the bounty of their love for Her and for one another. When Melea came of an age to understand, the Gods who were Her Mother and Father gave this world into her keeping. They gave her this world to cultivate and to protect.

Her Mother told Her, "Melea, Beloved Child, these are thy people. Man is the fruit of thy thoughts and Woman is the fruit of the stirrings of Thy Heart. They are made in Thine own image and likeness, therefore protect them and love them."

Her Father said, "Melea, Thou art the Goddess of these Thy People. Teach them the Ways of the Gods and the Ways of the World. Nurture their desire for wisdom and caring. Fare Thee well for We must go now. We are Called. Bless you and Thy Children."

And the Elder Gods were gone. Gone on to new planes... new folds... new dimensions following the calling of the Gods which created Them.

And so it came to pass that Melea did as She was instructed and Her world blossomed under Her tender care. Woman and Man were fruitful and grew in the Image and Likeness of Melea's Thoughts and Feelings. These Children of Melea built a civilization based upon Love for one another and respect for the World of the Goddess.

They built cities and towns and factories even as they built gardens and forests and preserves. They loved themselves, their world, and Melea their Goddess. They were growing wise but still they were innocent for they knew not evil.

It came to pass that in the Season when Melea's Children first reached into the Heavens born upon wings of fire that Evil did first come into Her World. For in that time and season did Melea's evil brothers, Molekh and Mardu Elkanah, did come down. And the first shadows of Darkness became known.

On that day did Melea come to sit in the garden of the Great temple built by the Children of Melea. As she sat in the shade of the Apple Tree served by the Micah, King of the Messengers and Javar the Wizard King  then did Molekh called "the Light Bringer" and Mardu called "Elkanah" come into Her sacred place and seized Her.

Melea cried, "Why do you treat me thus? This world was given unto me by our Mother and Father! What of thine own worlds and precincts? Micah, Javar! Defend me!"

Javar and Micah came to the aid of their goddess. As Javar wielded the great sword of Judgment, called "Truth," Molekh struck him down by a wave of his hand. Micah who had just drawn the sword of Power, called "Wisdom," hesitated.

Mardu spoke unto Micah, "Raise thy sword and die, or lay it down and live."

Micah loved Melea but Micah was afraid unto death. Weeping, He knelt and offered the hilt of the sword unto Mardu. Mardu took from Micah the Sword called "Wisdom."

Molekh bound Melea by hand and neck. The Brother Gods led her into the Sacred Temple and bound her across the altar stone. Only then did Mardu speak unto her in reply, " Our worlds are not but dust. The bastard called 'father' and the whore who was our mother gave us not but the salt of bitterness and they gave thee this gem. We have come to take it from thee... and to take thee from it."

Mardu called upon Micah who had followed the Gods into the temple, "Micah, I have given unto you your life and Molekh has given unto Javar his death. If you would not bring further grief upon your head remove the gown from this chattel for it displeases us to see her wear it! Hesitate at your peril!"

Micah stepped forward and ripped the holy gown from Melea. The gown of Her Godhood. He stepped away turning his eyes from her and fled from the temple. Melea struggled with her bonds but try as she might She could not free Herself. She lay bare and bound as if she were a mere mortal woman.

"Here my word," spoke Mardu, "for I would tell thee sister the fate of this place that once was your world. I shall rule the Heavens and Our Brother shall rule the Earth. I shall rule Men's souls and Our Brother shall rule Men's bodies. Between us, we shall divide thee and the fruit of thy womb."

It shall not be said how they defiled She who was once the Great and Good Goddess of this World. It shall not be explained how they came to know her and how She came to know and love the evil within the Hearts of Her Brothers. Nor can it be explained how that evil devoured Her Goodness and how She became as a Lustful animal and Knew not her Goodness. It came to pass that as those who were Her brothers defiled her that the world did fall into Darkness and the technology of Her Children availed them not. Madness, Rage, Lust raged among the Lands as wolves among sheep.

In the Darkness and ruin did the people come unto Her Temple and cried out unto Her for Salvation from the Darkness and ruin. But She who had once been the Good Goddess knew her children not for she had become a creature of her brothers. She Knew only the seeds of evil her brothers had planted within her heart.

She laughed at her people as she slew them. She gave evil unto the pious and evermore grief to the forlorn. The People knew not of the Evil brothers for they had remained hidden from the people. So the people only knew the evil of Melea as she traveled through the world destroying the cities and towns and forests.

Until a champion stepped forward to challenge her. It was Javar, the Wizard King, who had survived the blow of Molekh. Javar called upon the High Gods and brought a curse down upon the head of Melea saying, "Oh Cursed, Defiled One, She who is now known as The Goddess of Death and Destruction: May you know only the mortal pain you have given unto us. May you be cursed to live again and again knowing only pain and failure until you are purged of your sins and one righteous man lifts you from darkness and loves you wholly!" And Javar's Blade of Judgment pierced Melea's breast and she fell down dying.

Again Javar spoke, "I would tell you an awful tale my people. I would tell you of the great evils which have come upon our world. I would tell you..."

Secretly Mardu struck down Javar before Javar could reveal the coming of the brothers and how it had been they who had destroyed the goodness of Melea. Such a revelation would have ruined the fun of the game Mardu and Molekh had planned for Melea's World.

Molekh stepped from the shadows and by his magic smote the body and soul of Melea into three pieces and carried them into the wilderness. Far from one another he left her now separate selves. "No man shall ever love thee wholly!" declared the God who once was her brother.

And so Melea fell down from her Godhood and was forced to wander in the lands she had destroyed. Her separate selves were taken as slaves in the petty kingdoms of the Barbarians and Villains who had become kings over the face of the world. She was beaten and raped. She gave birth to many children, grew old, died and was buried in a cess pit. And so it was she lived her life for six thousand years.

And her name became a curse among men and never did any man love her. In her heart she did feel remorse but there was no release for her nor for her people.

And Mardu ruled the Heavens and the Souls of Men. And Molekh did rule the Earth and the Bodies of Men. When one of the three selves of Melea would die in the worlds of men then He would bring her to his hall and force her to provide entertainment to he and his dark brother. And when they tired of her, they would send her once more into the world of men.      

++++fini++++++
  
Comments? Questions?   

©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved

Yahrzeit

A year ago:

Baruch dayan emet.

Blessed is the One True Judge.
My father passed away  at 10:45 AM. on February 7, 2013
He died peacefully in a coma.
He was 89 years and 9 months old.

I love you, Dad.        

Phaldor's Piyyut I

Who am I, Lord,
That you should take notice of me?

I, who have had
but a few moments of sunlight
upon my face

I, who have dreamed dreams no Man
can understand

Who am I
That you see me with kindness?

Still
I have worshiped you
for the breezes and the fields
and the ones you have sent
to play with me.

I have praised you
in all my life
being no more
nor no less
than the one
you created me to be.

Surely You, Master of All,
can see my faults
and failings
and yet You give to me
these few moments
these Blessings

sunlight on my face
sweet breeze
on my whiskers
and simple joys
of loving and being loved
here in the shadows
before the sunset

Baruch Atah
Holy One of Blessing


---------------
Footnotes:

Baruch Atah - Hebrew transliteration which means "Blessed are You..."
Phaldor, according to Gustav Davidson's Dictionary of Angels, was the name of the "Angel of Oracles".. 

Simulation

I'm sure by now you might see that I  [upon occasion] have extremely strange dreams. They don't happen all the time. Over the last several years I've taken to recording the vivid ones.

Below you will find yet another example of a waking dream discussing an alternate view of reality. This one was recorded on as noted below.

++++++++++++

Friday, August 03, 2012

Simulation

 They were having one of their "what if…?" discussions when he asked aloud. "Why do we suffer so much? It is as if there is no proportion to what happens to any one individual. It's as if each event has no causal heritage."

"Why do you say that?"

"Imagine that there is a computer simulation which takes place within an 'environment' and within this environment there are 'agents'  which are given attributes and parameters or values. Their purpose is to 'live' in the simulation, following its own rules based upon the settings of the environment, reacting with the settings of the attribute values."

"So?"

"So the agents are given base class parameters  of who and what they are and the programmer lifts their finger and the start button is pressed. Events occur based upon causal relationships. But since the programmer is looking for something specific and wants to speed the simulation's evolutionary and adaptation process they changed the rules in regard to causal relationships. Instead of there being clear punishment for bad behavior sometimes it was rewarded and sometimes good behavior was punished. Sometimes events occur that had no causal reason and an agent is rewarded or punished."

"What's the point of the simulation? Why would the programmer want to make those rule changes? What you've described does not sound ethical."

"I'm not sure there is a point to the changes made in the simulation yet but what is unusual is that some how something weird happened."

"What might that be?"

"The agent's parameters evolved  to varying degrees over the life of the simulation but seemingly out of no where a new attribute appeared -- consciousness. Up until that point in the simulation the agents followed the 'rules'  now suddenly the agents became self-aware and with it came the qualitative experience called emotion.  It was an unexpected mutation. In addition the agents developed 'off line' storage in the form of writing.

"What was the effect of this change?"

"Now the agents could  consciously see and experience the simulation but were not aware of the  non-linear nature of the simulation's rules."

"Non-linear?"

"By that I mean there is not a one to one relationship between action and result.  Given varying degrees of heaven and hell which did not correspond to proper causality these self-aware agents made up justifications and rationalizations concerning good and evil and reward and punishment."

"So what is it you are trying to say?"

"Look around."

"This is a simulation.  My God..."

"The proper term, I believe, is 'My Programmer…'"

++++++++++++
©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved

Dear Google Ad Sense

And now for a brief [non-]commercial message....


I got the following in an email from "Google AdSense":

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Hello,

Thank you for your interest in Google AdSense. Unfortunately, after reviewing your application, we're unable to accept you into AdSense at this time.

We did not approve your application for the reasons listed below.

Issues:

Insufficient content

Further detail:

Insufficient content: To be approved for AdSense and show relevant ads on your site, your pages need to have enough text on them for our specialists to review and for our crawler to be able to determine what your pages are about.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

There is no return address or other usable feedback mechanism that is non-automated or case specific. Public forums are NOT case specific.

Alas this only proves that Google's automated monetization system has insufficient neurons [and human oversight] to know what human content, poetic and otherwise constitute human thought. 

I suppose that this is a good thing considering the fact Google's rules for NSFW content effectively squelches any content that may be considered offensive: Lenny Bruce, beat poets, James Joyce. Norman Mailer, and many, many others need not apply. Effectively Google suppresses freedom of speech in the name of 'correctness of speech'.



Dear Google AdSense:
Thank you for freeing me from the  burden of providing you with free content for you to use with your advertising. Now I can focus on actually writing... and guaranteeing my readers an ad-less reading experience [something rare and precious]   but it does mean that at some point I will [if successful] be moving to other internet accommodations. 

The fact that your web crawlers are unable to determine that these meager pages do indeed contain human readable content is an insult to human intelligence in general and a specific complement to the intelligence of any human who reads this... It is not often these days that a human can be shown to have more comprehension than their mechanical offspring.

I certainly hope that you will enjoy this feeble human's attempt at expressing things which you have no ability to comprehend and that it proves to be enlightening.  Human progress depends on going places which are "not suitable for ___[fill in the blank]____". 


regards,

jhc

Tuneless Tune

One Sunday afternoon in 1993 I laid down for a nice little nap.

When I woke up I feverishly scrawled down the following lyrics.

[UPDATE] A slow version mp3 is HERE

++++++++++++

Tuneless Tune

Verse 1:

After show time in Neverland
I had no place to be
so I stumbled down that Yellow Brick Road
to see what I could see

Now Babylon and Uruk
Were filled with a blowin' dust
An' from Pittsburgh to Paris
Was a sea of rust

So I stumbled blindly onward
To that place between west and east
And Fell into the darkness
They call the Belly of the Beast

Chorus:
At a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware

Verse 2:

Well, there sat Cap'n Ahab
A call'd the Wand'rin' Jew
And on his lap sat the tyrant
Known as Little Boy Blue

Their Love was a strange one
As strange as it was new
The glimmer in the old man's eyes
Said all the rumors were true
At the bar sits the Dutchman

Lost now between his beers
All that sailing from where to when
Has finally stripped his gears

Chorus:
In a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware

Verse 3:

Mata Hari and Little Egypt
Are kissing in the darkened room
Their loving fills the emptiness
With a passion we all consume

When in comes the Jester
Followed by his friend the Thief
While the Thief steals from all of us
The Jester gives comic relief

Now Siduri is the barmaid
Who once loved a famous king
But he died five thousand years ago
And didn't leave her a thing

Chorus:
'Cept a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware

Verse 4:

Well Nero fiddles for the band
And Gabriel blows the horn
While Jellyroll slaps the ivory
And sings of love forlorn

All the while I sat there
In the Belly of the Beast, My friend
I laughed and cried for all of us,
All our hubris and our sin

When I finally stumbled outta there
It must a been 'bout the Crack of Doom
I took with me only these memories
And the words to this tuneless tune.

Chorus:
From a bar set in Dreamtime
I pull'd myself up a chair
To fill myself with memories
Of which I was unaware  


+++++fini+++++++

Now one might wonder why this is odd. I dreamed this. Think about it.

Comments? Questions? Objections?

©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved

Work

Over the last 25 years I've had numerous encounters with vivid waking dreams. I'd like to share and explore some of them with you here. I have no agenda.  I make no claim at all that the contents of these dreams are "true" or "real". Do not claim they are wise or meaningful--  they are simply words strung in a row that my fingers spilled on to a computer screen after waking from the dream.

We will begin with a simple mystic tale I saw in a "dream".

 It is entitled "work"

-----

Wednesday, November 02, 2011

work

He came in the evening as he often did. We'd talk of things great and small. Of things that needed doing and things that needed healing. 

Sometimes he would teach me something new.  But that day things were different. The air seemed to sing with a difference. The meaning of something or maybe everything was going to be revealed or changed.

He said without preamble. "Let's do some work."

Now 'what is work?' you might ask,  a responsive question  might be: 'What is it that you do when you give something meaning and then hang it in the starry firmament of your consciousness?"

So he and I would work. 

Yet. 

As I said, that night was different in a way I could not fathom. I set my mind and body aside as was needed and the work began. 

There are no words for work. 

There is no teaching it. 

Never can be.  

There are descriptions.

Work can be described in too many glib words such as, " To Work is to evolve your  consciousness  by a willful process. " 

But glib words are not 'work', the words only confuse the issue and never truly describe the process.  

Descriptions are like watching a great dance or seeing  Starry Night but the description is not the dance nor the actions of a mad master painter upon a canvas.

There are techniques to be learned to do work.

The foundations learned: 

          Calm the mind and body. 

          Let them do what they do 

then:  

          close the door to let them do it.  

Abilities are developed:  

To see beyond. 

To see within.  

To float in the sea  of consciousness and listen to the breathing of the self.  

Then to hear another's breathing. 

Then to hear all of the  breaths of all of those who breathe. 

And then all of those who ever have or ever will breathe. 

Life is breath, that breath is One.  

To breath one breath is to breath all of them. 

Going and returning. 

Returning and going. 

One.

Ignorance is unlearned and abated: 

Prejudices revealed and then set aside as illusions. 

When you work, you work with the truth as it is, not as you have mistakenly distorted it.

Then  finally"

work. 

True work: 

Perfecting the world. 

Perfecting the self. 

Lifting others. 

Lifting self. 

Creating things, new then making them real in this world. 

This is the reason you are here.

Where can one find these things? Open any book to a random page but open it with a different intention.  For example , It might start on page 42 but for me a key answer was on page 43 waking  with a stone under its head. 

My answer might not be yours. 

Yours might be that quote of Cicero in Sagan's book. 

 Or the falling of a leaf. Or  an equation in a book buried in the stacks. 

A sunrise. 

A sunset. 

A picture. 

A voice. 

A song.  

You might find one of these things when you turn a random corner but open your mind to new possibilities. 

So we worked that evening. I opened my eyes to new things.  And I learned. Some time  after, I slept.

Then I woke alone.

Who is my father?

Where is my father?

Who am I?

Where am I?

Who should I be?

Where should I be?

Who is breathing?

Where is the breath coming from?

Difficult questions always seem to  have simple answers. 

Then the realization-- Simple questions, difficult answers.

Breathe.

See.

Work.

++++ fini +++++

Comments? Discussion? Objections?

I'd love to hear it.

©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved

Falling

Falling through reality -- an introduction.

Imagine that you take out the garbage early one afternoon and the trash truck has just emptied the garbage bins and then twenty minutes later when you go to your parking place to run an errand you discover your car is blocked by the trash truck that is just arriving to empty the trash bins. "Surely," some one will tell you. " you are confused -- You MUST confusing two different events." Surely someone will be concerned for your sanity if you insist that is what happened... but what if you have a witness who heard you say the bins were empty and then twenty minutes later hear you say you cannot leave because of the trash truck?

What if your life occasionally turns in new directions because of "impossible events"? A growing list of improbable synchronicity piles up becoming a thread and then a theme in your personal history. You wake from vivid dreams that have nothing at all to do with the world in which you live: The death of a goddess, The teachings of a master manipulator of Reality, that assassin, a song about a bar for losers set in dream-time...

A number of years ago, I like many millions others watched on live television the surreal acts of terror at the World Trade Center and the horror of its aftermath. It was too much like a disaster film from the 1970s and yet all too horribly real. Nearly a year after the fall of the twin towers I woke up one night and wrote a short fiction story called "Falling Through Reality".

It was like many other things I've written over the last 25 years-- totally unlike anything I have ever written before or since--  a "one of a kind" and yet its theme has gotten me to thinking about questions like: what is real? and what is reality?

The story was published in an anthology of CyberPunk fiction:  Alt.Cyberpunk.Chatsubo Anthology 2 Unfortunately somehow the unrevised proof was put into the final document which makes it nearly unreadable. 

I present it here in its proper, revised form as an introduction to this blog of fiction,  fact, dream,  nightmares and reality.


Falling Through Reality

There is a certain heritage in our family. We know when the time is near. You know what I mean.  It's small things really. Like donuts.

Like not knowing your own phone number. Like so many things. They all add up: someone's time is coming.

Now I'm not normally superstitious. I don't believe in the hand of fate but I grew up with this thing. At first I only noticed after someone was gone. As I got older, things became clearer sooner. I knew. Six, maybe ten days it would happen. Things would add up. Bingo.

Someone was leaving.

So what was I to think when funny things began to happen to me?

Meghan  came by the firehouse one night. Three A.M. and I was on the hot seat working the dead man's shift. We've always kept one guy awake. Why? Tradition. Dunno. We did.

She and I, we went and had a cup of coffee. Yeah, I know I wasn't supposed to do that, but we did. I did log the miles on the register so it was as legal as it could be and we had a cup.

We talked for an hour. I could talk to her forever. She was that kind of girl. Met her at that coffee shop. Guess she liked me a lot too. I was going to give her my cell number but I could not remember what it was. Silly me.

I kissed her for the only time that morning. It was as sweet then as it is now oddly bitter sweet. I left her there and went back to the house and made myself another cup of coffee.

I fell asleep at the breakfast table. When I woke I found the guys had left me a dozen donuts. Well at least I thought there were twelve until my eyes cleared of sleep. Eleven.

There a twelve men in our crew. I asked my crew chief. Charlie told me that they'd wanted to leave me a dozen but they'd only had eleven.

Like I said, its small things.

I walked across the commons to the rectory of St. Andrew's. Now I ain't religious. The only time I go to church is to see somebody off.

Another sign.

I knocked and told the housekeeper I'd like to talk to a priest. He came, limping and scowling. Father Murphy was like that. Notre Dame was playing someone, I guess, but he warmed to the subject soon enough. I explained about the things I told you and the things in our family history.

Finally, I said to him, trying to keep my voice even, "So what I'm trying to ask is 'Is this just a fluke of some kind or do these things actually mean something'?"

"A fine thing indeed." He nodded and looked at me from under his bushy brows. "Yes, He does give us signs and wonders if we have eyes to see them." He replied in his faded Irish brogue.

"What if the signs were to point to the see'er of the signs as to, well, be leaving this life real soon?" I asked, my voice anxious.

He pulled on his chin and frowned. He looked at me. There was sadness in his eyes. He knew now too. He said softly, "Then I'd be making peace with me fellow man and makin' it easy for them." I nodded and got up. I thanked him for his time and apologized for disturbing his game.

"It's all right son, they were losing any way."

I walked out on to the commons. I took a slow breath of the still the air. I looked at the signs. I remembered many things. Murphy's law came bubbling up out of my sub-conscious. I muttered an 'Oh, shit.' under my breath as I trudged back to the firehouse.

I was 'on-shift' until Wednesday. It was going to happen soon then.

I went back to the fire house and joked with the guys and helped make dinner. They went off to bed and I sat alone drinking coffee and reading the leftover Sunday Times.

Monday passed and I made a point of talking to each one of the crew.

Making peace. Telling them each in a way they'd only understand later that they were a great bunch of guys to work with. I'm not sure they understood then.

It was no surprise at all to me when they woke me early on Tuesday.

It was a big one. An airliner had crashed into a building downtown.

You know the big pyramid shaped one. The skies over the bay were unusually clear that day. As we raced through the streets towards downtown we could see the fire leaping from the upper floors unabated.

The smoke was like a monstrous Efrit reaching skyward. Its face wrought of destruction and unholy fire. As I looked it in the face, I saw the signs. The impending doom.

We arrived and forced our way through the chaos of debris and the innocent running away in terror. I must have been the last one assigned to go up. Dunno. Not important now.

I looked around. I could see things so much clearer now in the falling ash and debris. I knew what was coming. I can't say if it was a brave thing or a very foolish thing not to run away. I guess I stayed because I believed I needed to be there.

I went into the building and up the fire access stairwell. People were coming down in a steady stream. Some were injured. Some were glassy eyed. Some were clear and sharply in focus. Like a book, I read their fates. It was coming easier to me now.

There a dead one. There a live one. There a crippled one. We climbed in silence. Water from the fire sprinklers running down the steps.

Smoke and acrid air filled my lungs. Somewhere near the top, my cell phone rang.

"Hello..." I said through the roar of the demon that had broken into the world.

"Uh, Sam? I'm sorry I must have dialed the wrong number..."

It was her voice. She did not have the number. I never gave it to her.

"Wait! Don't hang up." I cried over the noise. The Demon was getting louder. Coming for those of us that foolishly remained so near it, I suppose.

"Don't say anything. I don't have much time just now. I never had a chance to tell you the other night. I love you. You'll have a good life. Things will work out for you. You'll see..."

About then the building shook. The phone went dead. Those of us that were standing there knew it was coming. The pain lasted only for an instant.

I woke. In smoldering rubble. I thought for a while I'd survived, I mean, where i' been. The pain was great, my head hurt, and I soon slipped into unconsciousness.

I woke in  again triage. There was a big hubbub. Some politician was making the rounds. The sea of people parted and a single man approached. He took my hand. My vison was blurred so I could not make out his face.

"I hear you're going to be ok, son. We're proud of you and your courage. Take it easy. We'll find the ones that did this to you and your fallen comrades."

"Mayor Chan...?" I heard a reporter ask.

Mayor Chan? No one of Chinese descent had ever been Mayor of the City.

I was in shock but now even more so. I guess I was the poster boy of the moment because he held an impromptu news conference at my bedside.

The camera's videotape rolling. The photographer's strobes flashing as the Mayor spoke.  The political stuff went on and on.

Later I asked a nurse who the man was that had stopped at my bedside.

"I guess that can be expected. You've had a major concussion." She replied as she noted something on my chart.

The nurse continued, "Mayor Chan has been mayor in the city for the last seven and a half years."

I'll say I've had a concussion. Shit. Murphy. Oh shit.

Much later the crew from the firehouse came in to see me. I looked at each of them. They were my crew but I did not know them. It was spooky. All of their faces I knew but I didn't know them. It began to sink in. The medical staff soon pushed them out of the room and I slept again.

But what about Meghan? In my dreams I could see her crying looking for me.

I woke and she was standing there next to the bed. Tears were streaming from her eyes.

"I thought I had lost you..." She broke down.

I remembered the kiss Meghan had given me. I realized this was not the woman that had kissed me. She was a stranger. I looked at her and knew she was not my Meghan and yet she was. I had not really gotten to know her. But maybe I would. Something told me I might have the time here to do that.

"Never that babe. Never that." I muttered.

She left and I stared at the ceiling. She wasn't my Meghan. I dreamed of her crying hopelessly. Her hands clinging to the chain link fence surrounding the crater of shattered concrete and steel. I wanted to comfort her. I could not.

The dreams of Meghan mourning began to get to me. I drifted away from the 'here and now' Meghan. Every time I was with her, the dreams of her weeping came to my mind. I decided it is better that to be alone for now.

I slept and recuperated. I endured the physical therapy. Months passed. As time went along, I decided to change my line of work.

My mind  keeps coming back to that day. The things I saw. The demonic fire reaching into the sky. The things that happened. My fate. Since I've had a lot of time on my hands, I've reflected on what I had come to understand.

Reality isn't a place. It's not a fixture. It is not a hard, clearly defined thing. It is something we fall through. We move through it even though we don't feel the motion.

We fall through time and space and places and people like a pebble dropped in a pool. Our lives and actions rippling out, expanding through time and space into other places that sit side-by-side with our own.

I read somewhere once that there are many worlds like this one side by side. Let me tell you it is a strange thing to see them that way. The folks that supposedly know say it is impossible to do that. I have days when I agree with them.

I've doubted my memories of things and wonder if I am just crazy but the dream of Meghan's tears snaps me awake sweating at night.

I know this is not my world or my life.

Everyday I was reminded of the "history" I had inherited from the person I replaced.  Every day has brought me subtle reminders of how different this place is from where I came from.

It is really hard to understand the things that I lost and the things I've gained in coming here. I wonder if this is the only time this has ever happened. I wonder too, it if might happen again. I try not to think about that.

How did I come to be here?

The only explanation I can think of is that maybe sometimes when something horrific happens, you know, like what happened to me on that clear day in the City... Well, maybe the pressure of the event is great enough that things, sometimes even people, can fall through into other places.  Into other streets. Other houses. Other lives.

Maybe sometimes we can leave whispers of our passing in those other places.

Think of these words as one of those whispers.

*** Fini ***

Afterword:

Someone had the idea that the events we observe in the world is the "sum of all the probabilities" involved in the event and the "most likely" is what occurs. Other say that all probabilities occur but each in their own reality.

but what if....

that is what this blog is about.

Reflections on what has happened, what is,  and what may be Reality... from a slightly skewed perspective.

So who am I anyway?

Does it matter?

Okay, okay you really want to know?

I am:
... not a saint -- far from it. So no I'm not particularly nice but then I'm not looking for trouble.
... not social-- so no I'm not on Facebook and never will be... and am barely on g+
... an autodidact without a college degree who is a "General Specialist".
... a healer of technical things by "laying on of hands" [works about 60% of the time]
I fail psi card guessing games which is to say I can't tell you what the next card is to save my life. [I am under the impression I show a significant inability to guess cards to the degree that it is statistically significant-- but hey I've never been formally tested so I could be significantly wrong-- after all we are generally wrong about our selves when performing self-assessment]

I don't have an axe to grind nor a make-cash-fast spiel though I won't object if you want to give me cash I won't stop you. [small, untraceable bills please].

A fellow who has had diagnosed mental health issues in the past

I'm a poet,

a writer,

a dreamer of all too real waking dreams [some of which I will share here]

a songwriter / lyricist, [of nothing significant in over 40 years to anyone except maybe my two year old grand son]

a recovering network administrator [there are no 12 step programs to recover from luser spaced management],

a fallen mystic,

I'm not a skeptic nor a believer... Reality after all is not necessarily something set in stone...

I'm an ex-convict who died in prison a long time ago and rose after three days [really!],

I'm a fellow who some how knows some famous and nearly famous people [but everybody does don't they?].

I'm a cranky, grumpy 60 year old man who has been unemployed for nearly three years because times have changed and I haven't and find I am "unwilling to play the game" any more... which makes me a liability in a corporate world made of meaningless buzz words.

I have discovered I am maybe too much like my late father [He was a gentle SOB (southern.  ornery.  bxstxrd.) ]

I'm not looking to create a buzz nor rain on anyone's parade.

I don't need a fix or to be fixed.

I am a Jew by Choice [or did it choose me? got a whole separate blog about that... [here: http://hagedi.blogspot.com/2006/07/opening-first-page.html ]

I'm not John Titor nor do I want to be-- one does not need a time machine to fall through reality.

So I will post upon occasion... or not.

I bid you welcome... and good journey.

©2014 by j.h. crook.
all rights reserved