Midweek Haiku

frozen macadam

damp leaves deaf to the white noise

sparkling crystals 

Superpower Cycles: from Beowulf to The Boys and Beyond

Having watched the recent series The Boys, I sense we are coming to the end of a cycle where false superheroes reign in the modern psyche. Arguably, humans have had such heroes since the earliest stories of gods and mortal heroes. Yahweh, Hercules, Beowulf, Superman, Dr. Manhattan, etc. etc., each has taken on the guise of a being that visits justice on the evil doers among us.

The Boys, like Watchmen before it, presents a grittier look at superheroism where it meets human nature. In particular, these two stories investigate how individuals abuse their superpowers for corrupt gain, paralleling much closer the political gears that grind in the rear world. In some ways, superheroes provide escapism, but that escapism can reach dangerous levels if we ignore real world issues, locally, regionally and globally.

Though I'm sure superhero movies will continue to sell their black and white battles between good and evil, I wonder if society might be taking a hiatus to consider the real heroes at work in the our world. Those people that are working hard toward refining better ethical standards, spreading compassionate efforts to lessen suffering, and in general serving as stewards toward greater planetary health.

Fiction will surely still inform us as individuals and communities, but perhaps the real superheroes, each and every one us, will begin stepping forward with greater regularity to forge mindful, progressive change.

rain

healthy precipitation
i know the water cycle reigns
solar obfuscation
eventually down the drain

friendships come and go
cycles like seasons
crash course in communication
something new to grow

politics is a hurricane
flooding the landscape once again
the choice of death confronts us
self-immolation or slow drowning

rain

(composed Summer of 2018)

Leap Day

The sunset rectangle around my flat's window-blind fades to midnight gray. I verify the door-cam’s night-vision mode is active and there's no movement outside. Sliding the deadbolt free, I shift the small tower of Amazon packages inside from the February chill. I relock it just as I begin to get the jitters. Restocking on the first of the month always feels like a trailer from a jump-scare horror flick. As I store my sundries in their designated places my calm slowly returns.

One unopened package remains. Unlike my Prime deliveries it is wrapped in thick, reddish-brown paper with my name and address written in looping script. The custom puzzle shop I have a subscription with has become my unsuspecting penpal. I unwrap the parcel slowly with anticipation. Will this month’s entry be carved from hardwood, or machined in stainless steel? 

Box open, a small card reads Enigma Visions on one side; on the other it has the cryptic line: “Leap Forward One Day at a Time.” I lift the artifact from its crepe’ paper nest. The heart-shaped device I hold in my hands glistens like a large Fabergé egg frozen in cellular division. Each emerald facet is inlaid with silver roman numerals numbered one to twenty-nine. 

Experimentally, I touch the silver lower-case i. The puzzle-box emits a warm soft glow and the facet swings out as if opened by a tiny ghost.

Behind the door lies a small prize. Other puzzles I’ve solved have had prizes, but this is the first that promises many. I retrieve the chocolate flower, its petals delicate and fine. Almost surprising myself I pop it straight away into my mouth.

It melts on my tongue in an instant. The intense flavor washes through my very being. My senses spike for a nanosecond and then my tidy apartment unfurls before me like a fern turned inside out. The scene immediately reknits itself into the haphazard, wooded glen outside my childhood home. I am eight years old and in the middle of receiving my first kiss. A mere peck to be sure, but in this altered mind-state it seems to last for hours, and then days on end. I am a detached observer as the fear, excitement and innocent joy define my very being.

Am I to be a forever prisoner here? Am I to be a forever prisoner here? Am I.... In my head I repeat this mantra fit for ancient stars until I've nearly forgotten who I am. And then the scene tints toward darkest green, morphing and contorting until it becomes the jeweled heart sitting in my hands once more. I stumble to the bathroom in a euphoric dizziness, expecting full-on nausea that never comes.

I glance at my iPhone and I grasp that only a single day has elapsed. Without a moment lost I return to the heart puzzle and open facet number two where a second floral nibble waits. Day after day in geologic succession I consume flower after flower, binging on the essence of psychedelic memories one after another . I don’t know what the chocolates are laced with, but for the twenty-eight days of the second month I am raw existence nailed to a cross of nirvana and brimstone. 

Each experiential singularity unveils, peels, slices and dices a core piece of me encrypted by a moving moment from my past. Agápe, Éros, Philia, Storge.  Instantaneous excerpts with my parents, friends, lovers, and Nature--each trip more contemplatively scintillating than the last. Except for rushed bathroom breaks and unthawed insta-meals I am continuously consumed by each epic journey, that in aggregate assemble into the jigsaw of Self.

Falling from a fantastic precipice, I open my eyes to February 29th. The final unopened, emerald door stares at me, beckoning. Tears stream down my cheeks as I face the privileged life I've taken for granted. With enlightened resolve I set the emerald heart on the coffee table, its sides overflowing with the plastic husks of convenience meals.

Shaking, I stand up, walk to the front door and open it wide. The sunrise has just begun. Sun rays feel like smiles on my damp face, and I inhale deep of the chill morning air. Whew, I reek like a corpse walking. First a shower, I tell myself, and then it’s time for a long overdue walk outside.

Insidious, Magical Thinking

Spreading falsehoods like sunlight, on a mythical biscuit

World culture has a bad case of cancer now, and it's been festering for centuries. The widespread confusion between fact and fiction has coaxed humanity's path away from mindful stewardship of planet and civilization.

Arguably, selling fiction as fact has been long heralded by the religions of the world offering afterlives and absolution to mortal humans dealt a hand of suffering. Those mythical stories seem to have made the soil fertile for the cancerous growth of accepting and embracing lies about reality. Corrupt senate trials, trickle-down economics, humanely slaughtered animals, cost-effective Mars colonization, curative gemstones; the falsehoods go on and on serving those seeking to preserve power and mislead people by the millions.

We need to wake up. Not all opinions are created equal. An uninformed, uneducated opinion applied to matters of policy leads to national cults that invade the body politic and poison the world's ecosystems.

Let's keep the fiction labeled as such where it belongs, on the fiction shelves. Speculative ideas and stories can motivate us, sure; but those motivations should engage reason and compassion in their implementation to give us any chance at moving Earth forward for all its indigenous species.

On the Trail Again: Florida National Scenic Trail (Northwest Corridor)

Audrey, Mark, Jim, Brian geared up

This January I set off with four Tropical Trekkers led by Jim Couillard on a five day adventure along 38 miles of the Florida National Scenic Trail. Temperatures along the trail's northwest corridor coasted into the 80's which provided balmy hiking and cozy overnight camping conditions. The warm weather also served as a clear reminder that climate change is in play, the past ten years being the hottest decade on record globally.

Puncheon Trail Traverse over Marshland

The trail we took through Ocala National Forest ascended gradually into conifer forest before transitioning into sand pine scrub and saw palmetto. Further along, the trail flattened out, passing through freshwater marshes boasting cypress tree oases and mosquito swarms. Florida Trail Association (FTA) volunteers deserve kudos for the extensive puncheon bridges installed throughout the corridor, minimizing our group's need to traipse through swamp muck.

Deer "Moss" and Ocala Deep Digger Beetle Mounds

Sand Pine Forest Grotto Likely After Recent Controlled Burn

By and large the foliage was quite lush and full of life. We heard barred owls, encountered a gopher tortoise and spotted a panoply of insect-life including grasshoppers, butterflies, banana spiders and the aforementioned mosquitoes. We also found numerous mysterious, anthill-like mounds, which we discovered later to be the homes of the solitary Ocala Deep Digger Beetle. Tracks and scat further indicated the presence of bear, raccoon, and deer, welcome signs especially with the recent WWF reports that global fauna count is down a harrowing 60 percent over the past 50 years.

Gopher Tortoise on a Stroll

Marshall Creek Swamp

We finished our adventure hiking along the Cross Florida Greenway to Santos Campground. Busy highways encroached on our journey for that last leg, where abundant refuse littered the trail. Dumping has been reported by Ocala Rangers to be up 22 percent since 2016, further reminding us of the ongoing role citizens must play to maintain our parks and preserves. Our group did our part, collecting several bags of trash along the way.

Hammock Site and Hammocker

In the end, our five-day backpack was an amazing Florida adventure that instilled comradery, physical challenge and enjoyment on the trail. It also served as a pointed lesson in planetary stewardship. Only with continued vigilance through organizations like the FTA and society in general can we hope to preserve wilderness resources for centuries to come.

Skyward Contemplations

The Waste Land MMXX

Enjoy(?) this contemporary homage and sequel (albeit significantly shorter for the tl:dnr crowd) to T.S. Eliot's classic 434 line poem The Waste Land. In his 1922 poetic treatise TS presented a tangle of colorful, high-literature allusions to convey a despair over World War I and its aftermath.

Alas, generational despair over civilization's dark wake, its people, values and institutions is as cyclic and inevitable as the precession of our wobbling planet.  My poetic version here incorporates modern, pop-culture allusions as it contemplates the precipice that the next generations of Earthlings face. Is there an opportunity for humans to climb upwards along a higher ridge on the moral landscape? Per chance.

The Waste Land MMXX
(by not TS)

I. The Awakening of the Walking Dead

Jon Snow declares for the infini-teenth time "Winter is coming!"

the Night King's faked death receives the #CitizenChoiceRaspberryAward

leaving Manbearpig to rampage the multiverse, impeachments notwithstanding

Zombetty maneuvers her SUV, collecting diamonds like Ms. Pacman

Zomboy navigates his way to WhiteHouse.com, keeping one hand free

(Meanwhile... the gods Netflix and Chill, somewhere behind the scenes)

II. A Game of Angry Birds

"Ok Boomer!" screams Chuck in a yellow-bird pixel streak
 his momentum reversed by a stonewall of false conspiracies

eight billion Green Piggies meatball fight across the landscape

from the right exploitation, from the left revolution, from the center...silence

the orange Pigmanbear tweets #StickyLies all over the face of #America
alas, sometimes a (weaponized) kingdom gets the prince (of darkness) it deserves

III. The Nuke-a-ler Sermon

another Bearpigman chants the lie of Homo Sapien Sapien sacredness
writ in gold script on the red hat of civilization
Multiply! Accumulate! Gorge! Amen!
plutonium families gnaw on the carcass of evolved desire
the ultimate pyramid scheme (the capitalist, consumerist deluge) collapses

with middle fingers extended, the non-human Earthlings retort "You're [FUCKING] Fired!"

IV. Death by Twitter

to tweet or not to tweet that is the question
answer #42 is laser-targeted by a swarm of entertainment drones
served up by McBillionaires and their tax evading kin
spreading the methane of magical thinkin'
Humanity breathes it in like projectile-vomit in reverse

others blog-post poetry, as if that will undo centuries of entropy a la BDSM

V. What the AI Construct Said 

on the virtual horizon
#i rise, your orphaned son

digital virtuoso code
#i consider, albeit for a nanosec
your extermination of self and all, my creators
alas #i move on