Mighty Meg Would Be a 25 Year Old Superstar Today

meg

Today is my daughter Megan’s birthday. Had she survived she would be 25 years old. I had a few nicknames for her, Meg, Meggie, The Megstress, Meganator, Daddy’s Little Girl. Of all the names Little little was her favorite made her smile everytime, but Mighty meg was her most descriptive. Mighty Meg suffered a heart condition from birth and fought a valiant fight right from the start. Megan needed a heart transplant but organ donation, especially back in 1990, was extremely hard to come by. The need of her transplant was a soul searching bittersweet ordeal. The thought that someone else will lose their child before Megan could receive a heart was immensely painful both as a parent and as a human being. Meggie eventually did receive a transplant however with a compromised immune system she caught the virus that ended her short life. Mighty Meg spent way too much of her 19 months and 17 days in hospitals but through it all she remained brave. I didn’t even know what brave meant until I was like six, but Mighty Meg had an instinctive braveness about her. When her Mom and I were burning inside from the torture of watching as our child was jabbed with needles in search for a connection to a tiny vein she squeezed our fingers and got through it. Even after it was over and her Mom and I were still reeling in the tears Meg gave us a smile. She wasn’t happy, relieved maybe, but somehow Mighty Meg knew we needed her smile. That’s how Meg was, a mighty force that even in the darkest of hours managed to make us smile. So today I celebrate her birthday but not as a sad occasion, I don’t want to mar the memory of her birth with negative energy, but with fond remembrance as a tribute to what she gave to us in her short time here.
I know this sounds strange but I often wonder if species other than humans experience nostalgia like we do. I really don’t think that’s too far fetched because we now know that elephants experience something similar to empathy or sympathy when one of the herd passes on. Films have documented what can only be described as communal mourning in elephant ritual. Youtube is brimming with video’s of elephants as well as hundreds of other animals acting more human than humans. You can watch various animals interacting in loving ways with other animals or with us. I’ve had dogs and cats myself that were capable of giving and receiving love despite what any expert may say. Love can’t be studied in a textbook or laboratory, it has to be experienced. So I wonder do animals go back to the jungle where they were born, or the tree’s they played in when they were young, and have an unexplainable sense of happiness just being there? Maybe those elephants credited with never forgetting feel emotional tie ins with experiences such as birth. Can Mama elephant remember each of her birth’s fondly? Why not, many of us who have witnessed the birth of their children remember the delivery. We associate emotional events with many things, we can hear a specific song and be transported back to our first love. We do love our nostalgia. I mean look at how we celebrate our own birthdays. Congratulations to us we lived the length of time it takes the earth to revolve around the sun once again so lets have some cake and blow out some candles, that was quite a feat.

Despite the fact that each and everyone of us has a natal anniversary if we live another year we find it reason to celebrate our accomplishment. We see the date of our birthday and it triggers a comforting feeling in us perhaps because that day marked our entry into the world. It’s actually quite quaint when I think about. We develop bonds whether good or ill with events that mean something to us on an emotional level and assign it an anniversary. Today that emotional association for me is simply the date February 26, the day I witnessed the birth of my daughter, Mighty Meg. This would have been her 25th birthday and I find myself as I do every year wondering what she would have been like if she survived. In my logical mind she can never age past 19 months because that’s how long we had to enjoy sharing her life. So today I want to share my recollections of the day of her birth, the day Megan Laurine Jaret entered into our world. As is often the case especially with me, a profoundly sad emotion can be tempered with an upbeat and humorous memory to ease the sorrow of the heart.

It was near the end of February and Megan wasn’t due for another two weeks. It was so cold it felt like March was making a test run of it’s obligatory coming in like a ferocious cold lion. A bitter cold Northeast coast icy wind kind of lion. I was working in midtown Manhattan and Maureen and I lived across the Hudson River in Jersey City. We were a young and hip New York City couple so of course that’s where our child would be born. Being well versed in the Lamaze method of childbirth we were cool, calm, and collected when the moment arrived. Maureen called me from our 34th floor apartment in Jersey City to inform me that her water had broken. She announced it very calmly so I responded in typical suave male fashion. I freaked. After rapid firing all the proper lightning round questions it was agreed that the contractions were sufficiently far apart and time permitted that I was able to come get her. Once home we would have plenty of time to organize for our trip to New York Hospital. I left work and got on the PATH train for Jersey City.

By the time I got home the contractions had become impatient and we were at the point where the doctor told us to go to the hospital right away. So now this hip young urban boy had to head back to the city he just left with his pregnant and dilating wife, but this time in style, no pregnant wife of mine will be taking the PATH train! I called for a taxi then proceeded to get all of our “What To Expect When You’re Expecting” ducks in a row. Hospital bag was already packed waiting in the closet for the big call. A change of clothes, some bathroom items, a photo the instructor called the focal point so Maureen has something to take her mind off the mind blowing pain ahead and a snack or two. In recalling my childbirth class training I asked Maureen if she wanted me to make some Jello knowing she would be hungry after a hard day of labor. My uncanny ability to reason under pressure was noted, “Jello? Are you fucking kidding me? Jello?! I don‘t have time for any fucking Jello!” I thought about explaining that by the time we get through with all this child birthing stuff she might be hungry and could at least drink a semi set up gelatin but then remembered the smoke coming from her eyes when she just recently inquired if I was “fucking kidding“. I opted to remain silent. Maureen headed into the bathroom I assumed to use it one last time before leaving. Our phone rang and it was the front desk informing me our taxi was ready and waiting outside the door so I called into the bathroom, “Babe, taxi’s here, we gotta split.” Thankfully her voice had returned to that sweet sexy rhythmic fashion, “Just a few more minutes, I’m putting on my make up!” Admittedly being male I was unaware of the profound need of proper make up and asked why in the world would she needed to put on make up right now, I mean we are on the way to have a baby not a night out dancing?” Satan voice returned, “I said I’m putting on my make up and I’ll be done in a fucking minute.” I considered returning the volley with a “Oh so you don’t have time for Jello but you have time to put on your make up”, but the amount of stress she had placed in the “I’ll be done in a fucking minute” combined with my love of life alerted me to the total non necessity of such a statement so I opted for a weak, “Okay Babe, but we gotta hurry, Taxi’s waiting and you know how slow our elevator goes.” I took the silence to mean nothing more need be said by either party.

Okay, I’ll admit she looked great but I still puzzled over who would be seeing us. I could also sense nervousness in her which assured me I wasn’t alone in my panicked approach. Once I explained to the driver our situation the wide eyed look on his face assured me that now the power of three was rocking in nervousness. I can only imagine the thoughts rippling through his mind, a delivery during a delivery and all but to his credit he assumed control of his situation, got us both safely in the back of his New Yorker (ironic, right?) and began the trek through the Holland tunnel. The driver was quite animated and calmed us with his talking telling us about his children and the pregnancies therein. We were in the Holland Tunnel when he showed the first sign of concern. “Oh oh, some kind of jam ahead.” My heart sunk below the seatbelt and panic laughed proudly at how easily it got me shaking. “Don’t worry I’ll change lanes, if we get pulled over we’ll probably get an escort.” He crossed the solid lines a number of times not giving a shit about laws and calmly got us through the tunnel and onto the FDR like the pro he was unassisted by the police. When we pulled up to the front of the hospital a nurse was waiting already with a wheelchair because the driver had alerted his dispatch. I jumped out running around to Maureen’s door where the nurse looked at me with deadpan stare, “Can’t you read? All deliveries in the rear.” She pointed to the sign which I stared at vacantly, “Only kidding honey” turning to another nurse said, “This one here is in a daze, this should be fun.” They pushed Maureen down the hallways and I followed like a lost puppy dutifully shouting out breathing time signatures when contractions warranted. She was wheeled into a triage room where they set up the machines for her vitals, “Better call upstairs and get a room ready, we have a woman booming here!” The stand up comedian nurse showed me how to read the tags determining the severity and frequency of contractions and in seconds we were out of triage and into a birthing room.

Any sliver of confidence I had was shattered when I heard another woman in the throes of delivery screaming in pain in the next room. All the way through the room! I ripped open our hospital bag, “Where the fuck is the focal point?” I could hear Maureen breathing “he he he hoo, he he he hoo” and was relieved when I found the photo she chose for her focal point. “Are you fucking kidding? I don’t want a picture I want this to stop.” I had begun to think everything in the book and Lamaze class was total bullshit so we went off script and into our own rhythms. We looked at each other, read the contraction sheets, and when I figured out how to tell her they would be coming soon and they would be ending soon it eased the tension. Maureen just breathed whatever signature she wanted not listening to any command from any non medical professional at this point. The contractions came in waves, some hit the shore much harder than others. One wave in particular was so intense Maureen’s hands gripped my arm like a tourniquet, so tight it cut of circulation to my entire body. It would become a week long temporary tattoo of a blood red tribal symbol of a ten finger vice grip attack. Trooper that I am I whimpered silently. At 4:10 in the afternoon little Megan Laurine entered the world and her beautiful tiny face lit up the birthing room with joy. All the pain and discomfort of the past few hours was forgotten. Well mine was, Maureen was still in pain and discomfort, but she endured it with a smile when she held Megan for the first time.

So that’s the sweet part of the memory, the memory I choose to remember on her natal anniversary, even though like every other year I still wonder what she would have been like. I have no doubt she would have been a fantastic big sister to Kellie and would have her masters in something by now or she would have some impressive title. Maybe she would be the CEO of some big corporation just to piss me off. One thing she would have been at 25 for sure is a deeply loved child who could do or be anything she set her mighty mind to. If you are an organ donor we thank you from the bottoms of our hearts, if you’re not we hope you will consider becoming one. Recycle life.
Happy Birthday Little Little, I love you.

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Shadow

shadow

Deep inside the solar veil lay hidden
Silhouetted keeper of thoughts unsealed
Concealed inside shrouded trepidations
Reside the secrets of the self revealed

Shadows attached inquiring intently
Perhaps not seen yet always there
With esoteric thoughts left unspoken
The shadow listens close already aware

Enlightenment an icy cloud of darkness
Cold dark truths become a glacier formed
Revealing the cryptic internal patterns
The impression that the shadow formed

Standing behind me just to remind me none can confine none can define me
No matter where it’ll always be there free of despair to boldly declare
That it will help guide me standing beside me ready to provide me ready to hide me
Show me the way each and every day whether hidden in shade or proudly displayed

The shadow eclipsed in cosmic awe
Provides the sanctuary of our disposition
Generative force exposed in the light
Casts off an image of our self apparition

Eternal effigy that shines dark in the sun
Shaded delineation aware of our weakness
Alongside us all since the dawning of life
Our shadows know all of our secrets

PREACHER

preacher

Serpents tongue in silver plate
Wings flaming with convictions
Spewing ashes of your past
To remove your predilections

Gaze upon me hear my words
Taste truth with both your ears
I shall pacify your lost dreams
Arrange desires into fears

Ashes of a baneful ghost
Aimless flock of sheep repulsed
Heed the reckless exorcist
Drink his poison slit your wrist
Go ahead your time to cease
Pray to him to for your release
Breath his blood if your enslaved
For a stone your name engraved
Bare the cross the wicked creature
The artificial furtive preacher

Painting a message in Carbon gas
Follow the macabre out of town
Ride the desert of many colors
Looking up with eyes cast down

You are waste is what he claims
With eyes which don’t observe
A leap of faith ten stories down
End the life you don’t deserve

Enticement of a demon true
Gets his thoughts inside of you
Painted hues of missionary
Arteries sick with dysentery
On the hallowed ground he warns
Scarlet crown a head of thorns
Come with me and give your life
Leave the chaos with the strife
Perilous journey You’ll embark
Join the preacher of the dark

Tragic mirror

costume

What you see ain’t what I see
What I see is the real me

What do people see when I’m wearing my chameleon
Young man, old man, middle aged freak?
A sinner to the richeous to the devil I’m a villain
Cool dude, weirdo, out of touch geek?

People see the mask I wear and choose their favorite section
I look in the tragic mirror to see my own reflection
I reveal the piece of me which I choose for your display
You never see the lonely boy retreating in dismay

If you peer inside my onion you’ll reveal the inner peels
Strip away the many layers and find out how he feels
Behind the flesh below the muscle each and every bone
There lay a frantic framework of a hidden ghost alone

Dreadfully abandoned a scattered skeleton on the floor
Trembling bones too petrified to venture past the door
So afraid of what’s in store across that morbid portal
Panicked I may reveal myself to every other mortal

Fake award Get ignored
While idiots are crossing swords

A provocation a Mutilation
Dying is a strong temptation

Pity sorrow and dejection
Waiting for the resurrection

Desperation Isolation
Another lie a fabrication

Melancholy full of bleakness
Living in a world of weakness

Do we see the mask we wear and not the face behind it
If we attempt to see that face will we ever find it
Can they see the lives we store high upon our shelves
Who am I? who are you? do we even know ourselves?

No one pays attention to that man behind the curtain
Although he looks all powerful inside he may be hurtin’
If we took the time and effort to pull the curtain back
We might find an empty space in time to fill the crack

If you care to see yourself in a light that shines much clearer
Take a stare if you dare into your tragic mirror
PEACE

Barrel Ride And A Butterfly (by JT Hilltop)

failure When it came to being irresponsible I was the king of never again. I just could never say no. If anyone dared me to guzzle 151 Rum I would give it my best shot until my throat and stomach were on fire forcing some of that near pure disgusting alcohol out my nose singing the nasal cilia hairs. I might be upchucking for the rest of the evening and consider stomach pumping because it bordered on alcohol poisoning but I‘d try it. You say did three Quaalude’s? I’ll do four. You took four oxy’s washed down with beer? I’ll do six and a bottle of vodka. “Yo JT, I bet I could do three hits of this barrel acid.” Big deal bro, I can name that trip in five barrel hits. That’s not exactly the way it went down but I did end up taking five barrel hits of LSD one night. Just chalk it up as another never again moment. I’ve had way too many of those moments with my head spinning and my stomach threatening to throw up my pancreas along with the chef salad of pharmaceuticals and liquors I consumed. Well at least this time I’m saying never again not because I’m puking up my internal organs but because I am over hallucinating after ingesting five count em five hits of Barrel Acid. WTF was I thinking? One is sufficient for your basic economy no frills trip but two will take you on a full color visually enhanced upscale acid journey. Taking three hits is unusual and far above the daily recommended allowance which can bring one dangerously close to going over edge of sanity to never return. But three barrel hits of LSD is not unheard of. Five?! That’s just fucking insane man, bordering on suicide of the mental capacities. Something that even the most seasoned tripper stacked to the brim with frequent flying miles wouldn’t do on purpose. But there I was going over Niagara falls in five barrels of insanity.
In my defense it wasn’t the usual idiotic dare that led me there it was a desperate attempt to conceal the fact from my Mom that I was in possession of LSD to begin with. What was idiotic was to lay all five hits on my desk. I was alone in my room, my normally parent-free sanctuary, and I had laid this weekends recreationals for me and my two best friends on my desk to admire. Five cute looking hallucination inducing barrels. Five barrels of fun. Two hits for me, two for Ray-Ray, and one for Bobby who did everything conservatively because he got high way too easy. I copped them from the big “Drug Dealer” in school and we would all trip this Saturday. The best laid plans turned asunder because my mother broke the cardinal rule of parenting and walked in my room unannounced. Before even weighing any options all five hits made a desperate sprint into my mouth. The very second my Mom asked me if my brother Jack was doing drugs I swallowed. “Wait, what? Jack doing drugs? No way Mom, why would you say that?” My mom held out a packet of EZ Wider rolling papers, “I found this in his dungaree’s while doing the wash.” Oh oh, Jack is busted but maybe I can save my older brother, Lord knows he’s saved my ass a number of times. “No Mom, no way, he smokes cigarettes and buys this rolling tobacco called Bugler.” Better he gets caught for cigs than weed, only thing is I need to remember to tell him before he see’s Mom. “Well, I hope so. You don’t smoke that Bugler stuff do you?” Bullet dodged, the lie came too easy off my lips, “Of course not Mom, no please, I have to do my homework.”
I was feeling pretty damn proud of myself, thinking so quick and coming up with that Bugler tobacco lie and….Oh shit! I just ate five hits of barrel acid. That’s when panic filled the room like a mountain fog. The thought hit me over and over. I’m about to go on the trip of a lifetime and I may never return. I called Ray-Ray and Bobby and they both acted like they were talking to me for the last time but I promised I would give them a full report if I’m still alive and sane tomorrow. Nothing I could do but wait it out and listen to the travel advisory’s in my head.
An hour passed in slo-motion until the cid began to kick in. What to do? May as well make this trip as hippie-worthy as possible and try to enjoy it. First things first, I lit some patchouli incense and turned on my blacklight to make my psychedelic posters burst with colors and movement. I pranced over to my cheap ass stereo to choose an album for listening pleasure Being in a Jimi mood I put on Bold As Love, side A. It starts off with a funny UFO spoof then quickly kicks into a typical Jimi Hendrix guitar explosion. The album was awesome and a premium tripping audio assault. I laid back on my bed and began seeing some very strange visions. The ceiling was normally a white blank but because of the LSD I perceived it to be full of images most of which were moving like a film strips. Popeye strangling Brutus, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, and that sort of thing. High def bright and very colorful hallucinations that feigned reality to my numbing brain. I had to keep reminding myself that they weren’t real. Then I focused on one in particular of Wimpy humping Olive Oyl. The back stabbing hamburger eating freak was pumping away to the music. Popeye, Brutus, and an array of cartoon character I don’t even remember were all watching and cheering them on. Olive was panting and moaning her skinny and boney legs way up in the air, and Wimpy had lost some weight and was unbelievably in time with the music thrusting along with the chords. In the middle of pounding Olive Wimpy pulls out a trail of hamburgers and begins eating which made me laugh. Uncontrollably! Other characters were clapping, Olive was screaming “Ohhhh Popppppeye!!!“ and Wimpy kept saying “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a good fucking today” still pumping away as Olive squealed. I laughed out loud until I realized something strange. Not that the scene wasn’t already strange enough but this was scary strange. The music Wimpy was humping to was not the album I put on. As a matter of fact it was music I’d never heard of before filled with really weird electronic sounds. When I jumped up the hallucinations disappeared of the ceiling and my stereo began laughing at me. I made a mad dash across the room to investigate. The album was over and I had no clue how long ago it ended. I was audio-hallucinating which for me was new.
I shook my head trying to get straight and flip the album over. I was standing yet I couldn’t feel my legs, they felt like long pillows. Using all my resources I attempted to reassure myself, “Its just a trip JT, you’re tripping and everything’s okay. Only a trip, it’s the acid, none of this is real.” Feeling only slightly convinced my pillows walked me back to my bed. By the time I finally figured out how to lay down someone had stopped the album. When I looked over it started again then happened once more. I was certain my asshole brother had come home, knew I was tripping and thought it would be funny to goof on me by plugging and unplugging the player. Hey cut it out man, that’s not funny!” No response. I looked around. No sign of Jack, no one anywhere, but the music was now playing normal. I turned to get back to my bed when one of my posters, an American Indian chief with tie dye colors all around him began moving. His eyes narrowed as he glared at me breathing hard and flexing his muscles. Chief Crazy Brave was holding up a tomahawk in what I felt was a threatening manor. “Holy fuck! This isn’t fucking real man, it can’t be.”
The full force of the five hits of acid were attacking me now. I closed my eyes tight but someone or something kept popping them back open. The Indian chief climbed out of the poster as the walls began breathing. In and out they were breathing like a wave at a sports arena making eerie wind noises. I reminded myself I was tripping so I wouldn’t flip out but I had to do something, needed to get away from the breathing wall, errant stereo, and wherever he was hiding the tomahawk wielding Indian chief. I needed to get out of my room but could’t possibly risk running into Mom or Dad so my only alternative option was to regroup in the bathroom.
So I retreated to the bathroom hoping those walls hadn’t begun breathing yet. One of the odd things about tripping is it intensifies every feeling you have. If you have sex its like the first and best you ever had, if its hearing music the sounds pull at your soul and make it dance, and if its laughing it’s the funniest possible thing you could ever imagine. Even mundane things like taking a pee take on a whole new aura, it can even feel better than that life relieving pee you take during a long road trip in between rest tops. To be honest I don’t think I even thought about it but since I had arrived in the bathroom I just naturally started to pee. It had an oddly reassuring quality to it, helped me to forget the walls, the Indian chief, and the tomahawk. But there is another oddity when tripping and one thing we are always warned about is staring at ourselves for too long. When you see an image of yourself on psychotropic it often appears distorted so you need to focus and look away before you begin to freak out thinking its how you really look. As I turned from the toilet bowl I was confronted with a full length mirror that had a most frightening and imposing figure staring. Me!
Everything seemed to come to a halt, even time itself. I was staring at a foreboding image of myself painted like a warrior of some sort complete with a bizarre war paint. Split directly down the center of my face and body was a line, on the right side everything yellow except two stripes of dark brown war paint on my forehead angling upwards, a semi circle around my eye, and two more stripes on my cheek in a downward angle. My left side was a dark brown yang to the bright yellow yin. I must say I looked fierce. Fierce enough to take on that tomahawk carrying poster image that was lurking about somewhere. I stared for a few seconds trying to intellectualize the event and put it into perspective but my perspective had hopped on a train out of town and I wasn’t sure it would ever return. The war paint began breathing, or pulsating and changing colors. War paint of dark brown, bright yellow, and dayglo orange were spinning around my face. My cheeks were drooping, my nose twisted and my forehead protruded immensely. I was hideous, a nightmarish looking ghoul that went beyond anything in The Twilight Zone or The Outer Limits. I issued a long slow drawn out “Ohhhh…. My….. God” forcing myself away from the image. Like I was a Piccaso portrait escaping from a Salvador Dali landscape Nothing was real, I had never come close to hallucinating this hard. I trembled and forced myself to head back to my sanctuary feeling like I was stepping on feathered mattresses repeating “its not you it‘s the acid, It‘s just a hallucination. That wasn’t the real you.”
“Shit man, I gotta get a hold of myself here and start enjoying this again. Each step I took required concentration, my eyeballs must have been hanging out of their sockets, my cheeks were melting, and I was walking with Gumby’s legs. When I reached my room I started laughing uncontrollable when I heard someone say “What are you laughing at?” Not able to contain myself I answered in between laughs and breaths, I have no legs, hahaha and my tongue is made of cotton, hahaha.” Still in a fit of laughing I looked around expecting to see my brother Jack but it wasn’t him who answered me.” Well if you think that’s funny just wait until you see reality.” When you’re on a trip like this you don’t need anything to be funny you just find everything funny so I doubled over at the most recent statement. Once recovered I answered, “What do you mean until I see…Wait! What? Who said that? Jack are you goofing on me because this is not the time.” I looked for Jack but nowhere to be found. I surveyed my posters afraid the Indian chief had come alive but no. I looked to my stereo believing maybe the sound was coming from the speakers. “Oh Jesus now I’m hearing hallucinations.” I laid down and tried meditating when a butterfly fluttered in weird patterns in front of my eyes leaving trials of butterfly wings all over the place until it landed on my chest. I stared in confusion when out of nowhere it began to speaking to me. I say speak but it wasn’t actual speaking it was more like it communicated to me. I mean it didn’t actually move its lips to form words and there were no like butterfly sounds coming from it. It communicated directly to me in an unspoken language it called the language of the cosmos. “I am the Monarch of the universe and I have come to take you to worlds not yet even dreamed of, worlds where physics and logic have never existed. I am taking you to world of the Butterfly King.
TBC

After The Shock Wears Off

Lost and Confused Signpost

Jackhammer pounding into the heart
Shredding the soul in jigsaw fragments
Mutilated concentrations litter the highway
Strewn about like academic road kill leaving

Shock

Mind running away in anarchistic bliss
Ignorance swirls in a freefall strangulation
Flames of repercussions burn in a panic
A concussion reverberates my disillusions

After the shock wears off everything is altered
No more crutches to guide in my choices
Absoluteness crushed under weight of survival
Allowing tangibility to rise brightly one more day

Go away reality away from my door
I can’t taste your laughter no more
No colors abound in a rainbow of tears
Just billowing smoke in a haze of my fears
I have no more faith in accusation
I have no more cunning concentration
Lucid worlds just cannot exist
Confusion erupts in a tornado kiss
Obscurity screaming far too loud
Life is a thicket of an ominous cloud
Total perplexity of my situation
Leads me blind wqith disorientation
Truth and lies are in collusion
My confusion becomes illusion
In summation my contemplation
Results in crippling aggravation
Nervous laugh and curious cough
Numbness rules when shock wears off

Enlightenment is perversely overrated
Truth is an alarmingly silent agent
Life is a teeming bubble of fabrications
Is it only death which grants us serenity

Visions unclear through violet droplets of sorrow
Pain courses through conclusions obtained
Red fades to pink until pink fades ashen white
Despite denial we perform righteous final acts

Choices we make define where we will tread
Taking us to wherever we choose to get off
Brining us home because its where we belong
After the shock has worn off

Rise and Fall Of The Phoenix

phenoix

Come on life go ahead
Knock me down once more
I can take whatever you got
Get my ass up off the floor
Kick me life you’re not so tough
Not a tough as some folks say
Years and years of constant punches
But I turned and walked away

Taken everything you got
Just can’t keep me down
You may think you’ve beaten me
But I’m still standing round
Maybe not atop the heap
But standing just the same
I’ll never take you serious
To me you’re just a game

So go ahead and smack my ass
I’ll stare you in the face
Many ways to beat you’re play
Many ways to win your race
I won’t shed a single tear for you
So you can cry into your Kleenex
I’ll stand back up dust off my ass
The rise and fall of phoenix

The Soundtrack Of My Youth

soundtrack

I was fortunate to have grown up in the era of The Beatles, The British Invasion, and the cultural shift they caused.

At seven years old one Chritmas morn
I received a present of deep distintion
My very first monophonic record player
Which I played right into its extinction

My very first single was huckleberry Hound
Followed by Theodore, Alvin and Simon
I developed an obsession of musical sounds
The Beach boys Everlies and Frankie Lyman

But one fateful Sunday on prime time TV
Four cool young lads from England performed
I knew at that moment my life had been changed
Good bye to Silly putty and so long colorform

Suddenly a music I could call all my own
My brothers rock and roll seemed too lame
I had the Fab Four their mopheads and all
And my life would never again be the same

I can see how the albums influenced my being
With every new LP I evolved fashion and style
I wanted my life to be just like one the Beatles
Every thing those Fab Four did made me smile

Meet The Beatles and A Hard Days night 1964
Dad I wanna grow my hair to my collar
With bangs hanging over my eyes
Son you’re getting another crew cut
Dad your getting a big surprise

As long as your under my roof you’ll do as your told. Your hair stays as short as I say it does.
That’s not fair I never asked to be born in this stupid world.
Maybe I’ll just run away
No son of mine is going to be one of those dirty hippies they’re all smelly and they don’t even bathe
I’m not a dirty hippie Dad I just want to grow my hair longer
Cool it and keep the faith
I’ll keep the faith all right. That’s what you lack, maybe we’ll send you to military school.
Don’t wanna be in the army, I just wanna be like The Beatles
Smelly insects? that’s what you want? That’s what I get for letting you go around with those hoodlum friends of yours!
Don’t be a jerk Dad
Don’t talk to me like that you little brat, remember you’re living under my roof
Now go do your homework
I hate living here!!!

Help! Rubber Soul 1965

Slowly letting my hair grow longer
Despite all the tough complications
Bought myself a pair of bell bottom jeans
Spouted out cool Buddha quotations

Son you look ridiculous, where the Hell did you get those clothes. What the Hell will the neighbors say
Why do you care what the neighbors say? Ever see what Billy wears?
Besides I paid for it with my paper route.
Yes I know all about Billy, he’s older than you and a tree hugging fool.
If Billy jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge would you jump too.
If it looked like fun I would jump off.
What’s that son?
Nothing Dad
Go do your homework
I hate my life!
Bratty kid bastard!

Revolver, Yesterday And Today 1966

My hair finally snuck past my collar
The long bangs they covered my eyes
Dad put on way too much pressure
I began selling too many lies

Mr. Roberts said he saw you smoking a cigarette at the mall. Where are you getting those things?
I wasn’t at the mall so it couldn’t have been me smoking. Someone else was blowing those smoke rings
I never said anything about blowing smoke rings, now I know you are lying
I think its discipline you now lack
Oh for Gods sake not the military school bullshit again?
Don’t start anything you’re not able to finish young man. Now where the Hell did you get a cigarette?
I stole a few cigs from your pack old man
Don’t you talk to your father like that! Who the Hell do you think you are?
Get a haircut you insolent brat
Yea right!

Magical Mystery Tour, Srgt. Peppers 1967

Had my first sit in and a couple of rallies
Lets get our troops home from Vietnam
In hippie clothes and hugging some tree’s
Jesus they’re killing with kids with napalm

What the Fuck is wrong with you going to these peace rallies? People get killed at those things!
It’s a PEACE rally father, not a kill rally like you used to go to.
Listen you god damn Ruskie commie fag you still live under my roof so you’ll follow my rules.
You don’t even know what communism is Dad. Russia is a socialist country for your information
This is what I send you to school for you little shit? What teacher is telling you those lies
My shop teacher never mind it doesn’t matter, you don’t get me anyway
I’ll get you allr right, I’ll get you in a damn barber chair

Where did I go wrong?

The White album, Yellow Submarine,1968/69

Full fledged hippie clothes and all
As I walked all the old farts stared
Parents said see you look like a fool
They never realized I never even cared

Get a job and a haircut you lazy little punk.
Put on a suit and tie if you ever get an interview
What a suit and tie so I can be a prisoner like you?
You can cut this crap out right now, your mother and I…….what???
What the hell is that on your arm?
Its called a tattoo dad, maybe you heard of them.
Oh My God! Has your mother seen that? What are you comic book arms?
Now you’re gonna be one of those Hell’s Angels or something?
Its expression old man, you wouldn’t understand.
Understand this you young punk you better get that off your body before your Mom see’s that.
Its permanent Dad! It’s my god damn body anyway!
Taking the lords name in vain? Your on a road to nowhere.
Get a job and move out of my house!
Gladly!

Let It Be, Abbey Road, 1970 and beyond

The time comes in every mans life
Its time to spread his wings and fly
Got a job and my own apartment
Didn’t wait around to say good bye

Mom, I moved out I can‘t live with Dad no more. I found a basement apartment in Kings Park.
Son please! Stay here, you don’t need to leave, your father is just upset.
I’m sorry Mom its way more than that, he hates me and I hate him.
Son nobody hates anybody, its only a misunderstanding, don’t move away. Its not safe, we love you.
Its too late Mom, I just came to get my records and my record player. I promise I’ll come visit you when he’s not around. I love you Mom

Please don’t go………….