1.
The only thing I know is hate
But I am good at it.

2.
I curse the day that abyss of a womb
Wretched me into this world.

3.
I died somewhere in the past
Perhaps upon my birthday
Every day since
I just rot a little more.

4.
Somewhere outside, deep in the ground
There lies a body that's never been found
Silently staring through hollow eyes
With fleshless skin and dirt for a sky
No one will know I ever was there
No one will know, and no one will care.

The Most Important Things You Must Recognize

For us now, for you later; even though this will not be a headline ever

Two elderly people are taking Their elderly Dog for a “short walk” in a few minutes.

When they come back home, they’ll Throw down a couple shots Of top-shelf tequila Then have sex/make love On this lovely afternoon.

Not a headline, Too many words And old people fucking (“Ewwww”).

But this, for us, is the essence Of retirement, thus far — So fuck you, headline writers!

Two Georges

George Martin told the very young Beatles, At their first recording session, referring to his studio work with them, “If there’s anything you dislike, please feel free to say so.”

George Harrison, the youngest of the Beatles answered, “Well I don’t much care for your neck-tie.”

George Martin laughed, and the Beatles Became The Beatles.

As we age, even those of us not cast in bronze and iconic look back at moments From our past And realize How small they felt at the time and how huge they turned out to be.

The smallest things often matter the most.

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Mommy Whore

Family First
Did you tell the truth?
You fucking whore!
How you pissed on your son's life
Talking about him behind his back, even to his daughter
Did you tell the truth?
You psycho bitch 
About how you made everyone around you crazy 
Did you tell the truth?
You greedy cunt
How you controlled your entire family with your money 
You never told the truth
You worthless whore of a mom
But I will.

We Know, Now, Who Ratted-Out Anne Frank

That’s what the headline said anyway about a name I shall not speak.
I didn’t even read the article.
I wouldn’t allow the ashes of that name space in my mouth.

That person is likely dead, unless he/she was, like, three years old when they dropped that dime.

But their family may still live, the shame and horror of the blood in their veins and of Anne’s blood on their hands and names is a form of eternal damnation.

For anyone doubting the long term existence of the soul, I’d ask you to consider: whatever the reason someone turned in Anne and her family to the Nazis, here we are, over 70 years later hearing your horrible name, a name hidden in the darkest shadows of history until now, so that when it is finally spoken it is muttered, spat out with disdain and loathing, an identifier of a despised soul something vile or, like the surviving Beatles chose to do when referring to John Lennon’s murderer, “He whose name shall never be spoken.”

Yes, the soul exists all right, and if it exists for one of us it exists for us all. and the darkest souls are doomed to one of two camps in Hell: unspeakably censured and erased for cause or, if considered at all, seen only as immeasurably shitty, obscene, profane, unspeakable.

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1.How many times must we forgive, unforgivable conduct?

George Harrison seems to have forgiven Eric Clapton
for stealing his wife.
Now Clapton is leading an insane stand
against vaccine mandates.
Yeah,

Layla is a great song,
but . . .
I’ll let you write the next and maybe the last
line.

2. I Find That I Am

… somewhat estranged,
from some much beloved
friends, including some author pals
whose work I once admired
and maybe still would
if I read them anymore.

I’m not sure how this
split came about.

Probably
in part
by my inability to
censor myself
when it comes
to gossip about
pals/competitors.

My habit of making
snarky remarks about them:

“Oh him. He’s nuts right?”

“Oh her, good lord,
she’s gotten big as a house!”

And as much as I’ve always
tried to think of
other writers as
colleagues and friends,
it was always the case
that we lied to one another
quite a little bit
about how fabulously
our careers were going:

“So much income,
such vast praise,
so many speaking invitations
for top-$ fees,
oh-my-goodness
things are going
SOOOOO fuckin’ well!!!!!”

For the most part,
the only authors
I could be honest
with were those
I knew were suffering
at least as badly
as I was.

But come to think of it
that’s not even true.

The only ones I could keep loving
are the ones I felt
still loved me,
and even then,
that was an iffy proposition,

I mean, how come they never call
or return my calls?

This poem
is kind of an apology
to all of my
estranged writer friends,
whether they have noticed
that I’m
gone from their lives or not.

I know that
Covid, shutting down
lots of career options
and speaking gigs
($-making opportunities)
didn’t help us stay close
but truth be told
This shit was going to happen
and happening already
anyway.

Friendships change over time
including the changes called
being over.

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Have you begun divining the truth within you so you can find that perfect love you desire who will desire you all the rest of your days? If you have not shuddered seeing your shadow, you have not been honest enough with yourself. Do not fret; I have an abundance of honesty to share.

Many years ago during a sociology class, the teacher asked students to identify the most important element of the socialization process. A woman in the class raised her hand and began her “mommy talk.”

Read more

Looking…that’s all we got and all we need.

Beauty is hard to find, at times amidst the anger/hurt/pain of life.

Beauty is out there (and in here), but sometimes you have to fight for it.

Thank goodness, because otherwise how will you ever learn how costly and priceless beauty can be and, in truth, usually is?

However, the leaves of this year’s autumn are spectacular.

Looking at them, it seems impossible that somebody didn’t set them up exactly as they are so that if they could speak they’d quote Jackson Pollock, “I am nature.”

And no one would be inclined to argue.

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My soul is ablaze with thoughts I should not know but know so well. My mind and emotions expand in considerations I hoped to repress, boiling in a turbulent brew. Raging, ever haunting me! Shall I exist in tortured silence? Shall I attempt to resist the truth?

A foolish notion!

To think I could ignore the ideas I entertain. No more! No more can I control the images my mind conjures. The noises, visions, actions, and sensations. No more can I contain them. Here and now, I free the phantoms from my mind. Here, the ghosts shall walk the pages of this text, cleansing and liberating me from their energy. Still, the apparitions cannot be vanquished nor suppressed. They are forever wrought and released from the darkest quarters of my mind.

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Finding commonality forms our goal achieved through self-awareness. People often mutter the common wisdom, “Be yourself.” Great advice if you know who the hell you are! Awareness is not just about understanding your strengths and weaknesses but also acknowledging what you truly believe and desire. Knowing thyself moves from the mundane expression to the knowledge needed for satisfaction in relationships, but as you inward mine for truth, the complexity of desire reveals the urgency for knowing ourselves in all things.

People are born, live, and die without knowing who they are, much less the person sleeping beside them. Life passes smoother in the narratives we create about ourselves than in exploring and committing ourselves to our true beliefs and actions. A lack of self-awareness makes us prone to appearing dishonest or hypocritical.

Knowing ourselves allows us to appear honest and authentic.

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Part 1. Awakening Early  

Sometimes, at 3 a.m., I wake up and lie in the dark trying to shut my mind off. 

I think various thoughts, and feelings, partly in control, largely still in the grip of some dream-mood or song lyric worming its way through my brain into mind and spirit centers. 

I begin a kind of mantra, a silent chant, an atheist’s Rosary to quiet my spirit and calm my anxiety. 

Eventually, convinced I haven’t slept a wink, I glance at the clock five minutes later only to see that now: it’s 5:48, almost time for coffee and for writing. And for starting my next day/night cycle until the next 3 a.m. 

Part 2. Middle of the night, again 

Other times when I wake up, stumble in and take a piss, then stumble back to bed and lie down, hoping for sleep. 

But of course, I’m awake now and The Spencer Davis Group is singing/blasting “Gimme, gimme some loving,” over and over in my head. 

Finally, I start to think about my writing. 

I’m almost 75 years old. 

After more than 50 years at it, the writing is finally coming more easily. And lying quietly in the dark I realize that I love to get it just right, or even close enough, like this one. And although I can’t tell you exactly when I drift off again, when I wake up, hours later, I feel utterly happy. 

I pray a lot, during these 3 a.m. sojourns, to a God I don’t believe in, at least not in the ways other people seem to believe in him. The God I pray to isn’t listening, so my words, both mumbled inside my head and whispered softly aloud and typed here right now are for myself not for him or it. 

This is how an old man keeps going, keeps the words and the work flowing — Gimme gimme some loving! You betcha! 

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Fat is to fat, as lovely is to lovely, as rich is to rich, as empathetic is to empathetic, as ugly is to ugly. No matter the relationship, from friend to lover, we seek commonality. Commonality is not simply sharing many similar interests. Commonality between people is sharing like-minded views, which include physical attraction, how to conduct finances, politics, ethics, and values. Similarity cannot be emphasized enough. The more differences people hold, the less likely a successful relationship. For example, having opposite political views causes divisiveness since each person approaches and understands society from different perspectives. While all differences are important, some are monolithic, necessitating identification from the start so as not to waste time. 

Money/Finances/Class  

Poor people do not view money in the same manner as rich people. Your socioeconomic bracket exerts tremendous influence on relationships. Most people voice the belief “money shouldn’t matter” in relationships. This bit of common wisdom wastes much time with bad relationships. How much money you have, your career, how you think about finances, and how you spend money are just some considerations to avoid this issue. 

It would seem obvious if you are a frivolous spender, then marrying a tightwad would be a poor choice; however, since little to no consideration goes to this element, these relationships occur often. The honest frivolous spender needs to realize the urgency of dating someone who either doesn’t care about money or possesses enough to spend carelessly. Money is a powerful force in relationships for being a class function impacting social mobility and opportunities. Money represents stability and safety. Most people readily understand these facts and agree, but in the context of relationships, this reality succumbs to common wisdom.  

I once lived in a low-income area, and dating nearly ceased. In my deluded thoughts, money and class had no bearing on relationships, resulting in almost a year and a half of struggling to date. When I moved to a more affluent area, my dating slump ended just as quickly as it began. With the connection of money made with relationships, looking back at those working-class women elucidated our inability to communicate.  

While I was quite satisfied with their status, they felt out of place in their lack of money management and comprehension of dollar values, which I understood completely. 

The real rub comes in realizing the awareness of differences does not solve them. Try as you might in that noble effort to see beyond the dollars, the underprivileged will not see you in the truth, but neither will you see them if you lose yourself in the common wisdom that says money holds no importance. You must know where you come from to know where you fit best, for this is honest.  

Religion

Most people fail to understand the importance of religion in this manner. We live in a religiously biased society where Christianity dominates the culture. The problem presents many issues, such as abortion or gay rights, and relationships are no exception. Faith v. lack of faith or interpretations of faith cause many issues but even more troubling is the lack of religious understanding people exhibit. Plainly speaking, most people have no idea what they believe and mouth the words of God the same as they mouth the common wisdom of relationships. For instance, many people identify as Christian yet don’t practice and hardly ever attend church. Many people indulge in hypocrisy this way, believing they need religious association — and they are correct.  

Religion invariably arises early in dating or even before when plastered all over online profiles. Because people value faith enough to codify it as a freedom and human right, the role becomes tied with life making it vital to relationship success. The best way to consider religion is on a continuum from fundamentalist to atheist, and though seeming obvious that an Atheist should not date a fundamentalist Christian, this reality often occurs.  

People hold bizarre forms of religious values.  

Spotting the fundamentalist or atheist presents no challenge but identifying the unknown religious quantity (URQ) challenges discernment. The URQ individual holds religious convictions but is unaware of their contradictory beliefs or shallowness of convictions, much the same way a person blindly follows the adage wisdom of relationships. 

They may say things like, “God is love” or “Just let go and let God work his magic in your life,” but at the same time dominate as lovers, desiring you to do all the things they want and constantly bend to their will. The URQ voices religiously based ideas, such as in a means of argument saying nonsense like, “It’s in the Bible.” They may not go to church or practice their religion in any real or meaningful way but brim with convictions like desiring to get married while fucking you on the first date. URQs will claim gays are an abomination, yet, when drunk, admit they had same-sex relations. They can justify everything in a malleable religion that allows them to say, “I’m a Christian, so I don’t believe in abortion, but if you want one — go ahead.”  

You have met this person, and you may even be this person.  

Most people are URQs because everyone is so significantly influenced by religion that they cannot see indoctrination. Unless we consciously consider religion and critically analyze beliefs, we will not overcome this common wisdom that destroys relationships by pairing us with those whose values run counter to ours. 

Most URQs are not bad people or intentionally trying to be hypocritical. Brainwashed with arbitrary religious ideas gives them answers for not knowing better. In many ways, they are victims. They are prone to the lies that tell them they are good because they have claimed themselves as Christian. Worse yet, URQs believe others are bad for declaring themselves "not Christian," but even more dangerously, URQs believe others are good for claiming to be Christian.  

We must critically examine religion to identify those who share similar beliefs to avoid the lies keeping us from a successful relationship.  

Values 

Money and religion are not the sole focus because these elements integrally fuse with values, meaning if you are middle class, you perceive and understand the world, money, and your place within it per this class. Don’t assume a narrow focus on class and money requiring you to date within your socioeconomic bracket. No, the key is the values. If you are working class and believe, like most, one should be obedient and respectful of authority, then dating an affluent person who values autonomy and non-conformity lacks wisdom. 

Values dictate right and wrong. No matter how conflicted your values are, they are your truth concerning ethics and morality. Most values instilled through upbringing combine with experience, religion, and other social factors, making them critical to relationships. 

The girl who constantly falls for the bad boy is an example of misplaced or misunderstood values. If a ‘good’ person with wholesome values, why does she always date those committing wrongdoing or hurting her or other people? Either she is tricked, believing this person is good, or she is not as good as she believes herself to be, often the latter. 

Have you witnessed a friend date a jerk or bitch? Have you wondered why this friend is with this jerk? What do they see in them? They are dating because your friend is either fooled or is a jerk or bitch. They are likely unaware they share the same values attracting them to one another. People constantly misunderstand or ignore their values to maintain a positive self-concept. No one likes to admit selfishness, viciousness, or other negative attributes since society deems this wrong.  

Self-awareness demands knowing the truth about us and our values to find commonality in potential partners.

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Two Deaths 

When Robin Williams killed himself, I tweeted, too soon my feelings about it; coming out of surprise and anger and a sense of disappointment, which, admittedly, included my judgment that it’s hard for me to forgive such an act and hard to not see it as cowardly and wrong because I felt and still feel that way. 

I think I know as much as anyone, that life is filled with pain — and I hold the right to feel what I feel about suffering and bravery and life and death. 

No one needs to agree with me — I don’t ask for that nor do I care. 

A good friend of many years, a man I’ve both loved and admired attacked me on Twitter saying no one needed my forgiveness and that my words were ‘shallow’ and ‘insensitive’ naming me in standard Twitter form, @TerryTrueman, so everyone who followed him could hear his wrath and condemnation. 

It felt to me like he was standing on one side of Grand Central Station, during rush hour, with a megaphone yelling across that vast expanse an attack on my character and views – on me, because his words were personal, hurtful, and seemed so unnecessary. 

We’d been friends for so long and he could have called, emailed, snail-mailed, dropped me a note, rang my doorbell, invited me to lunch, passed word via mutual friends, texted his disagreement, or even tweeted his disapproval anonymously: I’d have known that his sub-tweet was meant for me. 

My remarks had not been directed to or in any way about my friend — they were about suicide. His anger seemed targeted solely at me. Nonetheless, I tried to mend fences quickly: I deleted my tweet and apologized to him and anyone else offended by my remarks. 

A number of Twitter followers sent me messages of support. 

My friend ignored me, brushed aside the proffered olive branch, remaining silent then, and up to this day. 

There are two sides to every quarrel and my friend, as I once did, never cut down the hanging, dead body of his stepson and performed CPR until the paramedics arrived and pronounced him dead and then had to tell his mother that her only son, our son, had killed himself. 

The fact that my friend, likely, never went through such a thing, may go some distance in helping someone understand why my views about suicide and the damage it does to loved ones left behind are so different than his. 

Maybe he forgot about my experience or maybe he never cared about it to begin with. Although, he’s a much beloved, adored, and respected author of books for teens filled with righteous moral indignation and enormous moral certainty. 

Whatever it is, that has kept my friend from talking to me, I’ll never know because when Robin Williams killed himself, a long and treasured friendship died as well and I don’t see it coming back again. 

After all, dead is dead as Robin Williams is. 

And now my former pal, and hopefully everyone else who reads this will understand. 

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Many years ago, reading newspaper personals revealed an ad, and though the title remains vivid, the exact blurb escapes memory, which went something to this effect, 

Fat, ugly, but I am a good listener and very loyal. If you’re looking for good company, I am your person. 

Perusing stopped to ponder the ad’s authenticity, launching laughter for believing the personal a joke, but with more consideration, the person’s willingness to pay for the ad dismissed this assumption. Surely, someone posting an ad so self-deprecating must be desperate? Armchair psychology dictated the person, if not desperate, must direly need attention or help, right? What else explains this blatant invitation to someone not only lacking physical attractiveness but whose judgment would say, “Perfect. You sound great!” 

What a loser! How stupid! Why would anyone place that ad? Bewilderment brought laughter as the years of beauty’s conquest continued advancing to the answer. 

Yes! I am going to give you the answers to finding love and friendship. 

I once believed marriage and family were compulsory, even desired. As time progressed to the age of thirty-eight, love’s destination escaped capture in the reality of a kid, an ex-wife (not the mother), and dating a girl eighteen years younger. What happened? How did things go so wrong? Nothing went wrong. I lived the wrong life and did not realize the misdirected effort until failure to achieve my so-called dating and marriage vision.  

Sadly, not a quick realization, much dating, money, emotional catastrophes, and time transpired to learn my lack of good boyfriend, husband, and father qualities. This realization manifested over time, jumping from one relationship to the next, struggling to find the “right” person for me. The best and last realization, wrought from failure, dispelled the good boyfriend or husband belief.  

Though I continued performing love’s motions, my inner voice told me I had no hope after dating Karin. Karin, a nice churchgoing girl, wanted kids and married, leading me to believe she was the right person. Time progressed, as did the relationship’s tiresomeness, especially of Karin.  

No matter how much effort went into that relationship, our differences appeared insurmountable. On Friday nights, she wanted to sit at home and watch TV while I desired entertainment. She wanted to go to church on Sundays, and I wanted nothing to do with that. After a couple of years, I needed to get out of this relationship before losing my mind. 

While Karin appeared a quality candidate for wife, this was only true if she dated the right guy. I had no business in this relationship, having a kid already and not wanting another, despite saying I did. I also despised household chores, honey-do lists, and all the things necessary for a successful relationship: 

Happy wife, happy life,
Marriage is each for the other and together against the world. 
No relationship is all sunshine. 
A good marriage is something you make. 

I would fill a book listing them all.  

Wisdom, common sense, colloquial thinking, call it what you will, that knowledge gained from our culture and peer relations provides ready-made answers for everything. Common wisdom blankets our existence and socialization, barring us from achieving quality relationships. We hear all the time, “the heart wants what the heart wants,” or “boys will be boys.” Haphazard assumptions and contradictory beliefs form and guide relationships with the wisdom of “birds of a feather flock together” while “opposites attract.” 

The insanity of cliché thinking; that is the problem, can’t you see! 

Adages define relationships and people. Affirmations dictate unrealistic ideals, like “love conquers all” or “honesty is key to a successful marriage.” We see the problem now that all this common wisdom is not ours. We conjure none of these bits of wisdom yet apply them thoughtless of circumstance or context. Easy answers provide short-term solutions with no depth, forming a nonsensical goulash of relationship knowledge doomed to sabotage relationships. 

Trite wisdom worsens us in other ways by creating and reinforcing erroneous beliefs and stereotypes; “all women are emotional” or “men are just big boys.”  We define not just our potential love but ourselves as well. Our assumptions license us and others to bad behavior. When a woman says, “Men are lazy,” she permits this behavior in expectation. “Women are emotional!” So too, the man authorizes behavior in expectation. 

We see the problem now! 

Why should a man endure her irrational behavior? Why are you putting up with that man’s juvenile behavior?  

Because in lies, we love! 

Assumptions, false generalizations, and stereotypes cannot erase the dissatisfaction of trying to accept something you don’t desire. Neither can you erase the inner desire nor see the want in the lies you live. So we trudge in the lies with the seemingly good partner and work the justifications for their behavior, sometimes the thing we hate most. We trap ourselves:  

Stay in an abusive relationship because men have bad tempers.
Stay with someone who cheats because all men/women cheat. 
Stay with a drug addict because everyone has problems. 
Stay with someone irresponsible because everybody makes mistakes. 
Stay with someone you fight with constantly because opposites attract. 

The list goes on and on, revealing the pervasive, false wisdom imprisoning us, but there is an answer. Overcoming the lies dictates analyzing your relationship beliefs. A proactive, critical approach is needed to recognize the common wisdom, cease thinking in adages that fabulize the relationship, and learn to wield the truth. 

The real love narrative intrinsically ties with ruthless inward honesty to overcome the adages reinforcing the fantasy. The love narrative, that ideal relationship, disappears in the fiction and conflicting beliefs: while reality presents the true love story filled with hope, aspirations, good intentions, and above all, caring for the one who matches us exactly. We fully realize ourselves and, 

No more will we seek love in the wrong person.
No more will we jump from partner to partner, making the same mistakes again and again. 
No more will we feel hopelessness when looking upon our partners we desperately tried to believe to be the ones. 

We will know and speak what once was mythology and actualize love’s beauty in the pureness of truth formed in full awareness of ourselves. Never will we wonder again or risk becoming the person who titles their personal,  

Fat, Ugly, Good Listener.

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But it feels to me like I am sometimes managing to write shit that feels dangerous; stuff that tells a version of my truths that most people don’t want to talk about.

This starts by accepting that being honest is always going to cost you something and with some people, cost both of you everything: ending friendships and saying goodbye forever — absent any “good luck!”.

This is the price for telling certain truths.

I wish it wasn’t, but it is.

Of course, everyone/anyone can tell their truths if they’re willing to live with the consequences.

Thankfully, most people aren’t, which is why you’re reading this instead of the stuff others lack the courage to write or to read for that matter.

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Never Underestimate the Powerlessness of the Stupid 

The woman of your dreams won’t sleep with you, nor will any of her friends.  

Not solely because she’s a wooden sex toy, bound-up/trussed-up for your use and pleasure in BDSM fantasies as you stare at her from across your basement bedroom in your mom’s house — NO,  it’s because you’re an Anti-vaxxer, a pro-Trumpster, some other kind of Steve Bannon-looking fascist pig-creep, an anti-science moron who thinks Dr. Fauci is abhorrent but that Rand Paul is a real smooth mover, an open-carry gun-nut with a micro-penis, an idiot with bad credit and no money who nonetheless, eats shitty, fattening over-priced food purchased at shitty fast food restaurants five and a half days a week, drives a pick-up truck with huge, yellow “Don’t Tread on Me” Flag sticking outta the truck bed, thinks whites are superior to blacks including bein’ better than that Kenyan Manchurian POTUS who ruined the country for eight years by wanting us all to be miscegenation homosexuals and taking all our guns and giving all our tax dollars to ISIS and black teen gangsters (b/c “what about black-on-black crimes!?”) and baby-murdering libtards and such — NOPE; the wooden girl of your dreams and fantasies ain’t gonna fuck any of you INCEL losers, nor are any live-action versions of Betty White in her prime or any real-live woman gonna fuck you either. 

On the plus side, Gallop says there are more and more of you pathetic losers jerking one another off every day — so, yeah, you got that goin’ for you. 

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Everyone knows the beast of perfection. We grew up with him, were him, or want to be him. From an early age, the animal child runs around screaming and yelling with his parents encouraging his beastly stunts. They enter him in peewee games where he bites, scratches, and slams into things as his parents cheer him on, praising his antics. They pat their animal child’s perfectly chiseled head when he wins trophies and say, “Good boy! Be proud of your accomplishments. You can have anything you want in this world. You deserve the best.” 

He deserves and receives the best. 

Throughout school, he throws the ball, catches the ball, and learns to crush the guy with the ball. Extolled for his ability to stampede, throw objects, or hit people, adults provide him with special privileges. The animal child learns he does not need to work hard at academics because teachers revere his chest pounding and knuckle-dragging across the athletic fields and don’t want to hold him back from success. 

He passes with exceptional grades. 

His viciousness makes him popular amongst the girls who fawn over his arrogance formed from random genetics that elevate him to popularity, the alpha of the herd, and likely to become king of the prom. They throw themselves at him, and he takes them as he pleases, and the girls are proud or at least feign pride, having become another trophy after blowing or fucking him in the bathroom at a party, hoping he will choose one of them. 

He is such a hero and so rewarded for his sacrifices. 

Colleges let the troglodyte attend for free so he can continue playing his chosen sport. He is even allowed to date rape at will because he is gifted with hurling balls, manipulating sticks, running fast, and of course, striking opponents hard. They give him tutors and extra academic support, and before he even graduates, contracts that pay millions are placed in his hands so he can perform his athletic act professionally. The goat boy colliding skulls in peewee games and walloping peers without a care in the world has actualized the dream of sports and fame. 

We love him! 

Popularity holds more importance than knowledge. Opportunities come to those who jump the highest and crush their peers beneath them. The other animals admire the brute and strive to be just like him. The smaller less-genetically gifted creatures snap, sneer, and spit at one another vying for the scraps of life the beast boy tosses away uncaringly. They emulate him, exalt him, and love him. They memorize his stats and jersey number. They do these things as they study hard in school, graduate to work crappy jobs, and struggle through life, often just to subsist in poverty. 

Still, we love him!

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There is a beast in me I feel exists in all persons or at least in others enough to lend me some kind of forgiveness for my many beastly acts. Trying to fully grasp the Self that makes us up can be a daunting task, but as part of Ego Integrity, it’s a vital and necessary step. No one lives an honest life without looking at his own soul. 

I have apologized at various levels of sincerity, hypocrisy, and thinly masked disdain for some of my more beastly acts. Sometimes I have felt truly guilty, ashamed, and bad about myself for such acts. 

But other times, to be painfully honest, often while delivering these apologies, I’ve been thinking silently in such moments of my faux humility and contrition, “What did you think would happen when you chose to be with a beast?” Never mind that I had always kept my beast as well-hidden as my conventional, middle-class upbringing had taught me to manage. 

For most of my life I have neglected to accept or admit that my beast was here: Violent, sexual, selfish, crazed, and ravenous. The beast is rarely good company and frequently far more dangerous to you than you can imagine. 

The beast in myself and the beast I have glimpsed in others is sometimes well-hidden and full of stealth. We needn’t be standing in a dark corner on a foggy night thinking about our demise so much as simply waiting for the right moment to help it along. 

The beast in us is a predator. 

The beast in us is a seducer. 

The beast in us may or may not know the difference between right and wrong or truth and lies, but to the beast, these distinctions are irrelevant; all that matters is feeding our beasts. 

The beast in us has many hungers and a constant need to eat souls or flesh and usually both. 

There is a beast in me, I suspect lives in all men and all women. Or at least in a great many of us; I see it often in the eyes and words and actions of my fellow beasts. 

It is still here. 

It will always be here. 

Approach at your own risk. Indeed, approach anyone with a sense of risk because odds are their beast of self is approaching you as well. 

This is the last warning you’ll get from me. 

The Beast casts a dark shadow. Once you have encountered him, you won’t forget it. 

Filthy Beauty Contents

Speak clearly and plainly. To all new writers who never heard this sage advice — take heed. Me and poetry waged a long battle with conciseness ending in the defeat you will read in these pages. In younger days, classics filled dreams with the perfect poetic sculpture. The perfection of balancing semantics with mechanics formed the goal. Silent verses haunt the notebooks littering my shelves, evidence of this goal’s misguidedness. Language might be the medium of literary aesthetics, but it is always incomplete. Always needing a reader, poetry is a horse with no rider. True literary beauty requires readers to complete its purpose, and readers hate verbosity. 

Speak clearly and plainly. To writers pursuing conciseness, you’ll reap the benefit of readership. Me and other writers learned this lesson harshly. Across from many a critic, I sat enduring the criticism, “You’re too wordy.” Time’s passage relieved not my obstinance. “Motion in words” and “show don’t tell” formed the most beneficial and unheeded advice. Past experiences taught me audiences want to see, not read. To those wanting to read, not see, there’s always Whitman. New writers appear immune to verbosity since you exalt short, witty lines, but this illusion fades in practices that inflate your poetry. 

I see you apologizing and qualifying every stanza, detracting from conciseness. Want, need, emotional triggers, mindfulness, being humble: this is all new age nonsense. To listen to you preface every idea with a humbling qualifier or warning is a descent into absurdity. Hear your literary voice, try as I might, I find myself listening to a lonely person reassuring his cats. You can’t imagine my frustration listening to you prattle ideas in a blathering whirlwind of sensitivity. Beyond your poetic whines, your grandest thought describes how to make yourself happy using social media. Laughter would steal my frustration, except you’re serious and take offense when told you’re long-winded, unoriginal, and overly sensitive. And of all the ridiculous things you do, please stop writing with emoticons because this is literature not texting. Antics of the young, I’m told, but I believe literature’s demise might be more appropriate. 

I am also told authenticity defines contemporary literature. Want and need for the truth they claim. To this end, I say literature is all about telling a good lie. Hear me in my writing but know that’s not me. The voice you’re hearing is a riddle recited from within an enigma, especially where emotion is concerned. You think I’m lying? Beneath every masterpiece exists a carefully constructed scaffold of sublime meaning. The words are nothing more than flowers blossoming from the roots of that essence. Semantics my friend — all semantics. 

Talk plainly and clearly. To you, I say these words with the most seriousness. Me and my poetic failure prove this need. Across many years, I struggled for uniqueness. All a waste. Of all the ways to express myself, I chose the most enigmatic which only served to confuse. Love’s verses need not convolute with artistic dementia, relentless honesty, and soul-filled warnings. Dimensions of meaning clarify readily in simple statements. 

Express yourself simply, and don’t commit my mistake of lacking brevity. To write honestly, you need only speak from the heart. Me and you; that’s all. The clearest and simplest a statement can be. Pure in meaning to all listening. Tongue tying serves no poetic purpose. Of all verses ever written, school-age children scribble the most meaning on notes in crushes. Affections pure and simple, endure the longest.1

Honestly, how many of us Have ever read LEAVES OF GRASS Cover to cover? 

Or even half of it? 

How many know That 1st edition was only 80 pages or so, but that it grew to over 300 during Uncle Walt’s long life? 

Whitman is the Great-grandfather of American poetry, but I like to think of him walking the streets of D.C. during the Civil War heading to and from the military hospital, where he held the hands of dying boys, taking down their words for their final letters home. 

I think of Uncle Walt, as those boys called him, and called out to him, weeping quietly, out of their presence, of course — but always going back, a freshly laundered shirt, beard trimmed neatly. 

Always back to them, hour after hour, day after day, loving them, caring for and about all those dying boys. So many of them but each one precious. Each face belonging to a single soul Touched and touching Walt until finally his nerves shattered his heart broke and he could barely breathe — but up until that very moment, think of him at the end of each horrific day, walking home, weeping again for all the pain and loss. Then rising the next morning to do it all once more. 

Many mornings on his way to this perdition, he’d pass by Abraham Lincoln, taking his own lonely journey, going, perhaps to the telegraph station, the last place he’d been the night before, to collect his own latest news of death and loss. 

I think of these two men making eye contact and each nodding silently, maybe, touching with fingertips the brims of their hats, and going on. 

Walt would later write about the pain in Lincoln’s face, especially in his eyes, and about the humanity of man, flesh and blood, sinew and spirit, rocked to the deepest darkness a man can know — Lincoln, not yet marble and iconic, Walt himself not realizing his own immortality on the bookshelves of millions — this was before all that. 

This was back when they walked quietly towards and passed one another carrying burdens of unimaginable weight, in shared and separate duties, day after day, week after week; in truth, for all eternity. 

Billions of us have walked on this earth and lie beneath grass and cement, marked and unmarked. And billions more of us will pass here one day, too; each leaving brief traces behind, footprints, DNA never noticed, landfills holding our old soup cans, private papers family pics, and precious mementos under the dirt, right next to the soup cans. 

Tomorrow if the morning is chilly our frosty exhalations from lungs and lips, our breaths escaping, will evaporate into cold morning air — just like Uncle Walt, just like Father Abraham, we will leave these reminders of ourselves behind. 

Few of us will ever make, during our flickering moments the kind of marks they did. 

Beauty walks the razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine. ~Bob Dylan

The ugly may be beautiful, the pretty never. ~Buk 

Simplicity’s Hideous Inelegance 

Ugly and beautiful, rich and poor, right and wrong, good and evil: ad infinitum goes the enduring, fragile illusion that lures with simplicity. The billionaire daydreamer punches the keys for the billionaire who owns the keyboard, churning visions of big houses with fancy cars that follow the dreamer from cubicle to beater to tiny apartment, making clear the delusion of the now. Someday is coming…

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In the meantime, wisdom’s clear path twists forward to the girl with the most perfectly photo-shopped ass sculpted at all costs to match the breasts to fit the best selfie angled properly, attaching to the most positive-thinking head focused on life’s good proven by selfie adorned profile claiming, “Seeking the good in all things to make positive change,” letting you know the depth of this person much the way she knows your depth in the vision revealing your rise to life’s challenge, fashioning yourself in the billionaire illusory clay that molds you through rush hour, round the clock, out of exhaustion’s thicket to stand on the tree felled by you for the billionaire so you can be the alpha dog barking at the pack needing your leadership, all in the someday coming…

In the meantime, life is not all struggle to be the best one can be, for the promised path to that billionaire palace winds with an understanding, clear to the willing, discerning the proper, correct lane paved with good, while evil gravels the unpaved. Just follow the road with faith, for this is the reality of the someday that judges individuals based on their ability to overcome the odds, to rise like Jesus from the grave to save all, to be diligent, motivated, and loyal, even when these values appear enforced only for you. Fight the evil that pulls you from the good and righteous path to billionairehood by jailing the wrongdoers, killing the murderers, firing the ineffective, and silencing questioners of the road. This is the way from the burning forest! The path to freedom to spend with family, friends, hobbies, Teslas, and luxurious homes. The path to love, happiness, and, most of all, truth.

Simple is the elegant path moving ever forward to all life’s beauty in the willingness and can-do spirit that is the moral and proper way to becoming the billionaire, evidenced by the countless self-made billionaires who all by themselves trudged the same road to that someday…