Magi Easter: Pascha

I woke up on Pascha morning
Crying for my mother
Tears that cannot be assuaged
I turned and called my brother

Out of light and out of mist
Dreams were ever-slipping
Creatures of the light arrived
Into Earth a’dipping

I was adopted- I was nine
I had long forgotton
I had a dad and mother
Stored away like cotton

Others came to rescue me
I became their loved one
After years I’ve lost my shine
My childhood is long done

Now I long for days to mend
End and go away now
I find no enjoyment
Its really hard to find how

Pascha brings a hope back
What’s lost can come alive, then?
Still in tears for cruel years
I lost my faith in God and men.

Lingering I’m trying
And then I see this light
A family that claims I’m theirs
On the other side

I see the girls, I see the guys
I see I have my father’s eyes
I cannot understand this thing
My real family in disguise?

My father holds me to his chest
I see my mother clearly
And though its the first time we met
I know she loves me- dearly


Stuck On Plan B

     I think most people will confirm they are living continualy according to a string of plan Bs, dissatisfied. You’ll feel kind of guilty or disappointed. Its okay, though because its really a plan “A” to be adaptive. And you DO make it. Your finances may be screwed. Your relationships COULD be better.

    But I bet you these things are OUT of your immediate control. Your finances are strapped because these are hard economic times. I know, because, well, I heard “It” was happening and didn’t believe it. I was laid off from the construction industry- one of the first to go South with the recession.

      I was a proficient apprentice. Hard working. But I was not preppared to adapt to another vocation field being educated at a high school level. And that didn’t matter as people with masters degrees were “picking up spares” delivering pizzas, working at McDonald’s and grocery checking.

      I didn’t even get THOSE jobs and so I felt… burned. The 80 year old addage that a hard worker with good references will always stay in the game. I applied to 200 places. Nothing. The last bad streak was 2002 where it took 30 aps and I got peanuts. A relative helped with bills, not understanding how hard I really WAS trying. I got into the IUPAT. 1½ years in, I was convinced I’d make journey and go another 20 years and retire.

     Well no. I was served up and dashed. I got on unemployment. I did about 3 extensions. I did the verifiable 3 job searches a week. The malaise and disappointment and unemployment “payment guilt” made me apply for 10 jobs a day. Its all online now, which means your presence charm gets you no where.

      So I did self employment a bit. Your taxes become 30x as complicated and it is necessary to propagate your own work. I went back to UE then after a short while, UE dropped me. We are in debt because of that. Plan B. Plan B. Plan B. And… more plan B.

      I had an ap in for disability as well, but I was not sure of it. It did come through. So I make rent every month but as for the future, I’ll be lucky if THIS gets me through. I have tumors that keep me off ladders and walking. I have a swelling condition that has progressed to where I would have to call in sick 70% of the time. So Uncle Sam said, “Its your turn out.”

     Payment guilt sets in because I think of the rest of you who do get up at 7am and do your 40 deserve to know that I feel I ought to earn that tax payer money too. I don’t simply feel entitled. I am due that money as if I am retired, by law, but my conscience says make sure.

      So as a citizen with free time and ailments, I am limited. What I am about to tell you, I told my state senator who works in D.C. and he emailed me back and personally commended me for the use I make of my time! I help people locate jobs. I plug in electric carts in grocery stores every chance I get. I am an actualized citizen.

     I report damaged stop signs and potential crimes. I pick up garbage. I smile at kids. I drive safely. I have jumper cables to help the stranded. I will talk to the homeless- I have the time, and so do they! And I get them coffee. I drive my wife to get our groceries. Shopping tires me, but I can do the heavy lifting. I can open the jar of sauerkrat!

       I monitor my neighborhood like a cop but with ownership like I paid for it. I manage to speak to youth about video game history and what do they like at school. I get on the internet and find people who feel alone to make them realize I am on one side eating a baloney sandwich while they are on theirs sipping a coke. We are human. We can share our fear, knowledge and hope.

       One thing I did not expound on yet with plan B is relationships.
Its the best. I saved the best for last! Well, how others behave is a matter of accepting a brevity of expression from another rather than “putting up with” the whole person. Geez, we already do that because everyone is WORK if you think about it. So if you commit to having you hair go grey and losing your time on someone, even if you have NO return, you are still better off because it is SO bad to be alone. If you feel comfortable being alone, well, I’m sorry for you because real dimension in life comes from relational trigonometry. You need at least two points of view spoken and heard to get depth out of life and have it be worth living.

      The thing about relationships is to work on them, but if they get difficult let go, but don’t run or throw away. Gripping another person ironicly alienates you from them so let go but stay accessible, even if only by email. It proves you do not have a murderous or spiteful bone in your body but you are an entity. I am working on that myself at a very serious level with a distant relative that I love very much. But it mostly depends on them. I would lose $40,000 in a heartbeat just to be friends again. But it wasn’t me that walked away. And I love them very much.

So I hope you enjoyed this blog. I do put a lot of myself into it. I feel uneasy about it at times, but I also feel I have noone to pass things on to and I’m getting sicker. It sucks. But if you’ve ever felt really alone, ditched, forgotten, or taken for granted, you’ll get my writing. And I do appreciate your spirit!


Neuropathic Mileage

Is it possible to weigh the pains of experience and log them? Where they say “time is money” and “no pain, no gain”? Like if someone were to say to me, “we’re going to meet up with the family at the Honky Tonk Diner in Palookaville, PA and Aunt Bernice will be there…”, and I reply. And I say, oh, that’s going to cost me 30K TKO in neuropathy gigavolts, then they’d understand, straight up, I’m not going because Aunt Bernice’s entourage carries a magnetic table talk pulse of bullshit to the nth degree coffee out the nose while you’re drinking it feeling like throwing up somersaulting highdiving first day of school can’t remember your locker combo plus road rash clavicle scent of blood adrenaline taste pressure on the back of the head. AKA hell no, I’m not going and that’s the “hell noo” you size up and price with a…

Well, you get the picture that pain is hard to measure and exchange as currency. Dang. Did I just say all those words. Oh well.

The Life of a Millipede

Step with leg #204
Step with leg #145
Step with leg #342
Step with leg #232

Extreme slow motion

Stop filming

Change camera angle

Bowling ball is in direct tragectory for impact in 5 seconds dropped by a drunk frogman from a military plane at 22,500 feet

It is raining

Bowling ball rotates

The bowling ball is red.
Is is new looking because it was

The millipede is surrounded by a bowling ball fingerhole


The ball is pulverized.

The millpede crawls out.

The frogman is courtmarshalled three days later for opening the bay door while intoxicated

He might retire early

The millipede dies an obscure death, no timeline provided


All my father’s
Friends are dead
No one left to
Lift our head
Buried here
Or on the hill
My father’s friends are dead

Daddy’s sister
Died last year
I see Daddy
In the mirror
I taste wine that
Tastes like fear
Daddy’s sister’s dead

Cars on farms and
Gloves by trees
Rusted tractors
Broken dreams
Broken windshields
Blind the dead
Nothing holds my soul

I am lonesome
Daddy’s dead
Nothing holds my soul

Urban Magi X: Angelis Deo

     The ocean was purple and green and blue. I left the sand and walked into the water. A choir of black men and women sang my name and the glory of Almighty God Excelcis. They wore pearl blue robes. The sky was pink. They sang standing on the waters. Below were shadows and sharks. It was intense. Intense!

      I woke, gasping for air and slapped the nurses’ button. “I’m dying… I don’t want to die, I said, crying.” Bad lucid dreams are a side effect of going off lithium. Its like bungee jumping that goes on for days, even past a week. Its embarrassing. Your subcoscious flushes. A nurse came in, didn’t turn on the light. Freaked my roomie out. I insisted I could die.

       I have been diagnosed as bipolar and had that dx taken away. I’m dxed with PTSD. I have a blood disease that is neuropathogenic. Its complicated.

     So that was reassurring.

     The first major time I had trouble going off of lithium while going to college. I ended up drolping out. (I was guided by an RN to do so), I spent 9 days in a psych ward. I literally went “lunar”. Basicly, while on “high mental cycle, I sought intently a “natural” imprint in the world etc. that would ID God. I found it and went looney. Looney or lunatic comes, I believe, from the moon.

      I went nuts beause of the moon, but this is why- the heavenly bodies of the Earth, moon and sun are all different. But they are all relative, too. The Earth blacks out the moon, the moon, blacks out the sun. The ancient language for moon and sun are greater and lesser lights. This is but one and probably the largest stellar example of a “creator signature” that God has a greater and lesser self. God is magestic, yet humble and serving as an ideal christ figure.

       After I felt I had discovered my God had signed his name in the heavens, I completely short circuited. I considered myself completely unworthy, awful and faithless. My first act of this new “faith” was to leave bible college. Ye. I was going to Bible college. They were glad to see me leave after I broke down. I got suicidal. Many students who attende there ended up killing themselves. Not me. I watched my God die. I watched him come back. It was because I died.


    So I told all this to my suicidal roommate. He said he was a wolf and a son of the moon. When I told him the moon was the shepherd and that’s what I believe, he thought about it. I think it all worked out because my brother the wolf needed someone to get inside and tell him he needs to live!
My mom thought he was dark. Fuf. Yeah. He had no parents. What’s he supposed to do? Enjoy every Christmas? I hope he didn’t kill himself.

And a nurse sat with me before I left. I went to speak. She said no, just look out the window. Someone to wait with me. Lovely, really.

Urban Magi 8: Unmagestic

    Sometimes the most memorable times of our lives are the ones we’d like to forget forever. Their magesty is in their memorable tradgedy. Their tradgedy is enfolded with a confusing lack of explaination of our identities. The mind replays and replays to ensure the bearer of the memory that, no stone unturned, there is a rationale.

     But when the memory is replayed, each successive replay removes the actualized integrity of the original event. One day, scratched all to hell, one would hope the mental flesh “laserdisk” in the mind and body is unplayable. I have a set of disks. They are scatched all to hell. Best thing that ever happened. Now I have PTSD from 23 years ago. In the early years, those disks (the embossed neural net)- they were clearer and my mouth played them.

     The events were clearer and I could tell you, cold and far removed, the content, the crime, the searing pain of “why doesn’t a barely post-pubescent boy attack a 30 year old man back?”. And go to prison? Now I am 39 and a 30 year old is almost a kid. Post-catatonia, after 20 years I call the Detroit police to make a report. Because for posterity, I had to. For me.

       I told the police what happened. Menacing. Harassment. And felony. Felony. Another felony. Statute of limitations mentioned. I say I understand. Humbly the officer says, “Why are you reporting this NOW?”. I say, “I don’t know.” Its a matter of decades for shock to wear off. I watch ex-boy Catholic victims make lawsuits and go to work. I see Sandusky declared guilty and I am personally exhilarated. I hear he may be put with other prisoners and think things you wouldn’t easily believe.

      When I have “been the victim” others have tried to be the tough vindicator for me. On one occassion, a close associate tells me he bought a rifle with bullets with Jackie Jackiestein’s name on them (yeah, that’s my abuser’s real name. Lives on 123 Insanity Lane, Destroy-your-world, WA USA). Well I reported the intent. The police stopped that rage.

       Rage upsets victims. Besides, that was my kill. I declined. I declined 1000 times. I don’t want the Sandusky’s dead. Caught and chemically castrated would be civil.
So how do I live? I am not a victim now. I died. I was out in the woods, man. Church function. Protestant. I do protest!

        Male. Adolescent. Abused. Sexual in nature. What the hell do you do? Truly this is where the Urban Magi is from. The Earth. I was born in fear. Shock. PTSD. I personally took a path that is odd. There are no functioning rehabs for abused boys. You do not raise you hand and say “ME”. To boot, I have had heart problems. I have a born-with congenital blood disease that is very serious that can cause asphyxia. 1:4 die this way.

     So I don’t need angry fathers or vigilantes telling me they’ll “get ’em”. My blood disease and shock of attack left me nearly lifeless, catatonic in the back woods 30 miles from any hwy and an 8 mile hike out. I hiked 8 miles AFTER that. The perp gave me heart problems and I hiked out. That’s not “bad guy” or “wow what courage”. No. That sucked.

       I don’t get a chance to talk about that. A little about me- I take people at face value, I’m not gay or “gay-agenda” sympathetic, but I do believe everyone with a face has feelings, and I don’t give a crap about people’s sexuality. Like I’ve said before, I’ve almost drowned, so people having oxygen is my goal. So far, so good. I’m in a commited relationship. That is key to being all I can be! Ha! She’s awesome. All my PTSD & shit she is the sniper and I am the spotter.

        So I play bass guitar, I cook. I cook food. Er. I am qualified to perform CPR, coop with non ER police in my community. I volunteer my time on line to help people with rare diseases. All the energy I held for anger I took decades to reallocate to sharply focus on hunting the neglected and saving them. I think I’ve saved two lives and caught one sex offender and got him fired. That gives me no pleasure, I mean, not an ongoing joy. But I am pleased to be where I am. I would like to do more positive than negative done to me.

If I died today, I feel like I win. I feel I understand enough… ENOUGH, not all, but I understand God enough to know mankind was entrusted to care about the cub ME… and it pissed God off I was failed. I respect God, but I’m a religious “bum”. I get up into God’s space though and say, what’s UP with your world. He answers my prayers. God knows the Urban Magi and he knows my crap. But I’m allowed in and I want people to know if they have been dealt crap, people are cheating you. Do what I did. Make a deal with God or die trying. Life has been hell. I can only hope I am going to continue to do well.

    Anyway, that’s it for now. But I’ve lived a lot of life, so not sharing it has been WEIGHING on me, dude. Thanks for reading!!!




Blue sky.
Rolling wave.
Surge of water pushes my body.
(I’m exhausted from treading water
    in breakers.)
Another wave pounds my ear.
Ah c’mon.
I’m going to die?
Like this?
Family on the beach.
I’m stupid.
The kids.
Oh… I feel so embarrassed.
If I die I want people to know where
   I am (or sank)
(Waves are too heavy to search and
   rescue, no lifeguards, warning of
   rip tides. THIS WASN’T a rip,
Try turning on my side.
Do it.
Do it.
Ah, I’m up.
(I stopped ssupporting my weight
    by treading and now it’s 5 times
    easier to float.)
Oh God!
On my side.
God, yes.
I’m going back in?
(Wave was pulling me out.)
Lungs burn.
I swim.
Water is no longer hitting my face
I side stroke.
I’m heavy.
Side stroke.
Go. Go. Go. Go.
Go. Go. Go. Go.
Put a foot down…
Back up.
Go! Go! Go!…
(I had stepped off a hidden ledge of the beach going instantly from 3 feet deep to 15 feet deep. At that precise moment the water receeded with me in over my head. I was NOT swimming. It was NOT a sneaker wave. It was NOT a simple riptide situation. But I used a riptide counteractive swimming stroke. I am not a good swimmer.)
Continuing to swim.
I’m not looking.
Everything goes until I swim.
All the way in.
I’ll swim across the sand.
I’ll swim on the asphalt,
   leaving skin and blood…
I’ll swim up a tree.
I’ll swim forever if I have to.
(The ocean bay there in Seaside, Oregon is a place for surfing, not swimming. There I was. I believed that I was going to go to Hell. To die and go to Hell. True, my lungs were already on FIRE. The thought of the darkness under salinous brackish diseased sea water was a land-lubber’s life-hating casket iron maiden coming for MY WHOLE WORLD! I’M GONNA DIE! NO! NO NO NO NO!!! I can’t say goodbye & its MY FAULT. THIS IS SO STUPID. JUST LIKE THIS… just like this… without a goodbye… without a kiss… I know I am making a widow.)
Kill the killer.
Test the ground.
Test the sand.
(Foot down. Fwoosh. Caught sand!)
More. Harder.
Test it again.
(Foot down. Bang! Water is only 3 feet deep.)
(Standing. Looking back. Hell yeah.)
(Walking in, water runs off my head, shoulders…)
(I step onto the sand. As many as the sands reflect to me are stars worshipping ME! I am Appolo! I am undestroyed and therefore indestructable!! I am Apollo.)
(Fuck the ocean.)
(My God, that was so damn close.
Oh my God. Oh my God. The air. My body is neplsultra. I could have died! This is so frickin’ killer! I just got the SHIT beat out of me!!!)
Wow. . . . .

I have never had anyone take me that close to death. I don’t want to feel the pain again, but it was a beautiful time. I can only replay it “nanosecondarily”.

Okay, so that’s all.
I didn’t want to die like
my dad’s dad did.

I haven’t told that one….


Tahini Street pt. I

“Tahini Street: The Indepth Look At The Pulverized Lives of Sesame Street Has-beens”

        Today, on Tahini Street, Cookie Monster was free-basing cookies and the cookie jar exploded. He was found alive and naked. What’s new?

♪♪ “Can you TELL ME HOW I GOT-   how I got to- Tahiniiii Streeeet??” ♪♪