Miracle. The dictionary defines it as "an event that appears inexplicable by the laws of nature and so is held to be supernatural in origin or an act of God." When I reflect on the people and events that led me to this moment in time, this "place" in my life, I am forced to conclude that a miracle -- no, a series of miracles -- has occurred. How else can a devastating car accident turn out to be, in the long run, a blessing? But then my inner critic says, "Are you so self-obsessed as to believe that the hand of God moves through your puny life?" Well, if I postulate an infinite God, the answer is, why not? The dictionary definition of infinite is "having no boundaries or limits." With that in mind it seems self-obsessed to think that the influence of something infinite wouldn't extend to me, or anyone else for that matter. Of course, I could also postulate that we're all chemical accidents in a dead and meaningless universe. It just doesn't make a very interesting blog.

posted by 123454321 at 11:18 PM

The first time is for love, the next time is $200.

posted by 123454321 at 3:35 PM

An open letter of apology

Dear me,
Over the years, I have resented you for not being athletic enough, brave enough, funny enough, smart enough, talented enough, handsome enough, rich enough, admired enough, educated enough, New York enough, out-going enough, quiet enough, old enough, young enough, loving enough and loved enough. I have demanded perfection from you and have found you wanting. The result of this obsession with perfection has been to make you terrified of failure and ridicule, angry at any and all obstacles, and finally, incapable of enjoying the bounty that was not only around you, but within you as well. Well, all that's about to change. From now on, I'm going to make every effort to love and accept you as you are. But since bad habits die hard, I'll start with something easy. From now on, you're old enough.

Affectionately,
Me


posted by 123454321 at 1:06 AM

To whom it may concern, We have taken John Carter hostage. Do not try to find him. Do not alert the authorities. Until our demands are met he will be held in a really nice house in Los Angeles where he'll be forced to eat rich foods and watch satellite TV with all the premium channels and pay-per-view. The following are a list of our demands: We must never again receive "official" letters from big political parties informing us we've been selected to be part of blue-ribbon panels that determine our country's future, provided we donate five grand to be so honored. Sometime, somewhere, in some city, an oriental rug store will have to actually go out of business. All salespeople in nice clothing stores who act like they're better than the people shopping in the store must take acting lessons from people who don't know anything about acting but know a good thing when they see one. This demand also applies to snooty waiters in nice restaurants. You have twenty-four hours to comply with these demands. Until then, Mr. Carter will be forced to spend his nights sleeping on a very cushy bed that is dangerously close to a snoring dog with bad gas.

posted by 123454321 at 12:53 AM

I've been told that we're only as sick as our secrets. I like the sound of that. It would make a particularly good bumper sticker. With that in mind I'd like to engage in a little self-therapy and reveal one of my deepest, darkest secrets. There've been times when the mere thought of this secret has nearly overwhelmed me with self-loathing. And yet, there've been other times when I actually took a perverse pride in it. So what is this personal bit of esoterica? I've got your attention now, don't I? You probably even skipped ahead to see if this is really juicy. Well, skip no further. My secret is this: I'm not that smart. Yup, there it is, dug up and thrown into the sunlight. Since I was a little kid I've known that (like it or not) there were an awful lot of people who had a lot more on the ball than I did. Oh, believe me, I've tried to suppress this awareness. I've tried to convince myself that I was special, that I was gifted. But I eventually learned that this secret could be my greatest asset. I learned that with enough bright friends even a dim bulb can light up a room. I like the sound of that. With enough bright friends even a dim bulb can light up a room. Someone ought to print that on a bumper sticker and slap it on Air Force One.


posted by 123454321 at 6:25 PM

I recently mentioned to an engineer friend of mine that I get slightly crazed when things are less than perfect. To my surprise he looked at me with a crooked little smile and said, "Oh, but things are perfect." A few days later our conversation continued. This time he told me that the universe was expanding at exactly the right speed to keep it from flying apart or collapsing back into itself. He also noted that the subatomic makeup of our bodies was calibrated so magnificently that were it off by less than one percent, two human bodies approaching one another would release enough energy to blow the Earth out of its orbit. And consider this: if a plane loses its wings at thirty thousand feet, and DOESN'T fall to the ground, then we would be living in a world where fat people could stick rockets in their ass and fly to Miami for a three-day weekend. Now, if you're like me and don't find that to be an improvement on the laws of nature, then I think you have to agree with my friend -- things are perfect.

posted by 123454321 at 7:06 PM

When I was a little kid my parents often used a phrase that, to their way of thinking, described the ancient art of meditation. The phrase was "staring at one's belly button." This bon mot was most often used to describe someone who was sitting on their butt practicing the equally ancient art of underachieving. "Look at that guy over there staring at his belly button," would be considered an acceptable use of this witticism. Another common remark heard in my formative years was "He's got a head on his shoulders," which was used to express admiration and respect. Smart people who were doing something with their lives had "heads on the shoulders." Those who were not quite so clever, well, there was another phrase for where their heads were. The reason I'm bringing this up is that while meditating recently I had a tremendous flash of insight -- I have never stared at my belly button, not while meditating, not while underachieving, and my head has always been on my neck. When I mentioned to my mother that my head was filled with these sorts of nonsensical sayings and I considered it a subtle form of child abuse, she told me not to be such a Wisenheimer. Wisenheimer was an old country name that was later anglicized to Smartypants.

posted by 123454321 at 2:28 PM

I recently spoke with a man who is tormented. He thinks he is tormented because he thinks he has a tormentor. He cannot think of a scenario wherein he leaves his tormentor and thus ends his torment. He thinks his only path to serenity is to destroy his tormentor. He thinks the appropriate weapon to accomplish this task is a lawyer. This got me to thinking that perhaps thinking was the real source of his torment. But how can that be? Don't we value thinking? Don't we worship great thinkers? How can this God-given gift that separates us from the animals be deemed a curse? Isn't the alternative to thinking, stupidity? Or is there another alternative? Ask yourself this question, "When I have a good idea, do I think my way to it, or does it just hit me?" Which brings me to the theme of this message (finally). I'd like to suggest that we all have inspiration at our disposal at all times. How does inspiration work? How the hell would I know? I just know it's there. Nothing else but inspiration explains a great work of art, and nothing else but thinking could be responsible for making all those "Lethal Weapon" movies. I mentioned all this to the tormented man. I told him that perhaps he could find a solution to his troubles by quitting thinking and being open to inspiration. He said he thought I was a moron and threw his shoe at me. It just hit me.

posted by 123454321 at 6:14 PM

As I write this I'm sitting in a big, dark cloud of anger. The feeling is highly energetic, almost electric, and, for some strange reason, seems to be most evident in my skin. The experience is vaguely uncomfortable and is dissipating slightly as I write these words. Thinking back, I see now that there was a brief moment when I had a choice as to how I would react to the situation that led to my current condition. I could have just as easily chosen resignation, or amusement, or even sadness. So the obvious question is why did I choose a destructive emotion? I suppose that on some deep, unconscious level I must be hard-wired to believe that anger is the appropriate response. Which leads to the next obvious question: how does one undo a damaging mental process that appears to be inextricably woven into the organism itself? Well, let me state right here, that burning it out doesn't work. God knows I've tried and therefore will not be running for public office anytime soon. Thinking it away (which I'm doing now), is terribly ineffective. And I'm certainly not ready to line up at the great pharmaceutical "happy" trough. So what then? Well, perhaps I could give my anger away. I know it sounds silly, but maybe silly is what's called for. Perhaps I could simply give my anger to everyone reading this message... whoa, suddenly I'm feeling very affable! CAUTION: This is not a chain letter. Do not pass the anger on. Gently put it in a box, bury it in your backyard and blame it on the dog when no grass grows on that spot.

posted by 123454321 at 5:38 PM

The sun rises, the sun sets
The seasons change
Rivers flow
Leaves fall
It's raining somewhere
Spiders make webs
Fish eat each other
Babies are born
Stars are born
People and stars get old
then stop getting old
All this happens and more
day after day after day
At no time am I consulted
posted by 123454321 at 12:32 PM

In certain cultures, people greet each other with a little bow and their hands pressed together in a prayer position. This is meant to convey that one acknowledges the divinity in the other. In our culture we greet each other by shaking hands, a gesture meant to convey the cheery thought, "See? I'm not holding a weapon." Personally, I like the divinity "hi, how are ya" a lot better. In fact, sometimes I like to walk down the street and remind myself that each and every person I see is of divine origin and on a journey that is unique, profound, tragic, joyous and, to them, immensely important (airports are also good for this exercise). Now that's not to say that I don't often consider others as being mere speed bumps on my little drive through life. I just find that when I make the slightest effort to acknowledge that spark of divinity in the people I meet, I feel better. Life is less threatening. I feel safer. More inclined to being open and loving. More inclined to leave the safety on.

posted by 123454321 at 12:19 PM

It seems to me, in brief moments of clarity, that the only way to proceed is with a tub of popcorn, a good seat and a willingness to be surprised, delighted, horrified, amused and/or bored as I watch the play unfold, while simultaneously being grateful for having been given a bit part. The upside to this way of thinking is increased compassion for the other bit players, a sense of perspective as to one's true size, and a release from suffering. The downside, as previously stated, is this way of "thinking" is brief and I spend most of my time complaining bitterly that the popcorn doesn't have real butter flavoring.

posted by 123454321 at 11:00 PM

The Buddha taught that the first principle of existence is impermanence.

Absolutely everything in this universe is impermanent.

Impermanence creates uncertainty.

I don't know about you, but I have a very low tolerance for uncertainty.

Uncertainty causes me discomfort.

Discomfort causes me to think stupid things.

Stupid thoughts cause me to take stupid actions.

My stupid actions bring about unfortunate results.

Luckily, the unfortunate results are impermanent.

Is this a great universe or what?

posted by 123454321 at 10:57 PM

To pierce through the illusion of separateness, to realize that which lies beneath the tormenting wound of duality -- that was a goal worthy of a lifetime. Richie, however, never really believed he could unravel this mystery which had baffled the greatest minds of humankind. He certainly didn't have anything resembling a great mind. Then it occurred to him... maybe a great mind was not what was needed to see behind the veil of illusion. Maybe true perception comes from a great heart. This realization troubled Richie, for he knew in his gut that he didn't have a great heart either. But then he thought, perhaps with some desperation, maybe the secret was in having a great gut. Or nice shoes.

posted by 123454321 at 7:57 PM

Richie was in perfect health when he began reviewing his life. His reasoning was simple: if your life passes before you moments before you die, why not do it when things are going good? That way, when you're coughing up blood and forgetting your childrens' names, you can just lay back and enjoy the morphine-drip carpet ride that takes you back to God. Richie's life review began with his teenage years because his actions during those years effectively blocked out all memory of the preceding years. He began slowly, looking for moments when he'd been kind and loving, generous and cheerful. Unfortunately, all he could remember was a bewildered, terrified, selfish, horny, angry, pimple-faced knucklehead. But that was okay. Part of the life review involved extending forgiveness. So Richie forgave that miserable teenager of long ago and began scanning his young adult years. Which is where he found a treasure trove of memories that caused him to cough up blood and forget his childrens' names.

posted by 123454321 at 7:49 PM

Richie didn't know he was beginning a journey into darkness when he made love to Kate. All he knew was bliss. For a few surreal hours his identity simply melted away. Of course, he tried to maintain his objectivity. Sex for Richie was traditionally an ego-ridden activity -- an athletic event designed to win the "you're incredible" trophy. But something else happened that night with Kate. He actually made love. He kissed her with love. He touched her with love. And finally, he entered her with a sense of devotion that dissolved all the fear boundaries which had caused him to be so alone. Unfortunately, Kate was just drunk and horny. Nothing even remotely special was happening in her camp. Richie had his first nervous breakdown shortly thereafter, although he preferred to think of it as a learning experience.

posted by 123454321 at 7:47 PM

Some days Richie would wake up crying. His first thoughts would be of Kate and the emptiness he felt without her. Those were the darkest days. The days when the pain of her rejection reached back and formed an alliance with his earliest childhood memories. The woman who couldn't love him now and the woman who couldn't love him then, working together like a Sino-Soviet monolith lumbering toward total Richie domination. So, bright boy that he was, he worked hard, drank hard, and chased soft women. Anything to forget. Anything to kill the pain. Until his dream came true. Until that amazing day when Kate came to him and said she had been wrong, that Richie was indeed the man for her and she wanted them to be together always. Which is when Richie suddenly realized that Kate was nuttier than rat crap in a pistachio warehouse. Richie still wakes up crying.

posted by 123454321 at 7:47 PM

Richie was mildly disoriented when he realized he and Dave were the same person. This sort of cognitive moment tends to undermine a guy's sense of self. But it didn't stop there. When Richie looked around the room, he realized he was also Kate and Lorraine and Ted and Lenny. Heck, he was also the dying philodendran on the windowsill. Suddenly he felt enormous compassion for all these variations on himself, or rather "ourself", which he thought was a more appropriate label. The pain of loneliness and the fear of death were suddenly swept away by this one blinding flash of insight. It was so obvious! There are no separate forms of life. Life was life, just sort of wandering around looking at itself, loving itself, and unfortunately killing itself. Which is when Richie woke up, shit, showered and shaved, went to work, worried about nonsense, drove home, watched a supposedly funny show, had a stiff drink and went to sleep again.
posted by 123454321 at 7:46 PM

Richie was excited about his upcoming death. He rented a medium-priced banquet hall and invited all of his friends, family and co-workers to the happy event. But when the big day arrived, many were confused. There was Richie, walking and talking, actually having quite a good time. What kind of death was this? What Richie had failed to explain in the invitations was that the death he was celebrating was that of his carefully constructed ego. From this day on, Richie would cease to be Richie (except for tax purposes). For all other purposes he would simply be a continuously unfolding manifestation of the universe -- a process not a thing. He tried to explain how blissfully liberating this was, that this was the enlightenment sought by wise men throughout the ages, but no one really understood. Of course it didn't help matters much that he kept pestering several female guests to show the continuously unfolding manifestation their sweater puppies.

posted by 123454321 at 7:45 PM

I believe that everyone thinks they can write. This is not true. It is true, however, that everyone can direct. I believe that the laws of karma do not apply to the real world, where good things happen to bad people on a fairly regular basis. I believe that what doesn't kill us makes us bitter. I believe that the obsessive worship of movie, TV and sports figures is less likely to produce spiritual gain than praying to Thor. I believe that Larry was a vastly underrated Stooge, without whom Moe and Curly could not conform to the comedy law of three. I believe my parents are secretly proud of me. I believe that if you can't find anything nice to say about people whom you've helped to make wildly successful and then they stabbed you in the back, then don't say anything at all. I believe I have a great dog, maybe the greatest dog in the whole wide world, yes, he is! I believe that the guy who invented those speed bumps in the freeway that snap you back into consciousness when you're drifting into a nearby semi should be given a big hug. I believe that there are actually several cures for the summertime blues. I believe I've spent my life expecting people to behave in a certain way. I believe that when they didn't behave according to my expectations, I became angry, sad, confused and occasionally fearful. I believe these expectations are the reason I've been angry, sad, confused and occasionally fearful more than I care to admit. As a result, I now believe my expectations are the real problem. I believe that everyone has this very same problem, and they ought to start acting accordingly. I believe that El Nino is an international conspiracy perpetrated by evil roofing contractors. I believe it's high time The Beatles came clean on that whole "Paul is dead" thing. I believe that anyone who can read and speak clearly can be a network news anchorperson -- but not necessarily a weatherman. I believe that if I rid myself of insatiable cravings, lusts, paranoia, deep-seated anger and ill-will towards others, I'll be a much better person. I believe that TV is the cause of all the violence and immorality in our society -- ha! just kidding. I believe there's no business like show business, although if you're over-paid for feeding a big, scary monster, then that might be sort of like it. I believe I'm growing skeptical of cynicism. I believe that sex with multiple partners in a moving vehicle isn't all it's cracked up to be.I believe we are better than the animals because we're capable of reading in the bathroom. I believe that JFK had a much better understanding of the word, "Perks." I believe that words have power. Sticks and stones may hurt our bones, but bones heal in a relatively short time, while one critical parent can cripple you forever. With that in mind, let's try a little experiment. As you read the following words notice whether you feel the impulse to smile. Did it work? Did you smile immediately upon reading that? If not, that's okay. Don't get down on yourself. Remember, this is just an experiment. We can try it again. This time feel your lips curl up gently at the corners. You try to fight it, but your mouth seems to have taken on a life of its own. As you continue reading you can't help but notice that you are now smiling like the execs at Paramount after they realized they got a piece of Titanic for chump change. See? The power of words. In this case used for good. If you would like an example of words used for evil, call your mother and tell her you're really starting to make progress in therapy.
posted by 123454321 at 4:42 PM

serpentine

pavlov hits me with more bad news
every time i answer the phone
so i play and i sing and i just let it ring
all day when i'm at home
a defacto choice of macro
or microcosmic melancholy
but, baby, any way you slice it
i'm thinkin i could just as soon use
the time alone

yes, the goons have gone global
and the CEOs are shredding files
and the democrans and the republicrats
are flashing their toothy smiles
and uncle tom is posing for a photo op
with the oval office clan
and uncle sam is rigging cockfights
in the promised land
and that knife you stuck in my back is still there
it pinches a little when i sigh and moan
and these days i'm thinkin i could just as soon use
the time alone

cuz all the wrong people have the power
of suggestion
and the freedom of the press is meaningless
if nobody asks a question
i mean
causation by definition
is such a complex compilation
of factors
that to even try to say why
is to over simplify
but that's a far cry
isn't it dear?
from acting like you're the only one there
unrepentantly self centered and unfair
enter all suckers scrambling for the scoop
exit mr. eye contact
who took his flirt and flew the coop
but whatever
no matter
no fishin trips
no fishin
cuz mamma's officially out of commission
and did i mention
in there
somewhere
did i mention
somewhere
in there
that i traded babe ruth?
yes, i traded the only player that was bigger than the game
and i can't even tell you why
cuz you'd think i'm insane
and that's the truth

and the music industry mafia is pimping girl power
sniping off their sharp shooter singles from their styrofoam towers
and hip hop is tied up in the back room
with a logo stuffed in its mouth
cuz the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house
but then

i'm getting away from myself

as i get closer and closer to home
and the difference between you and me baby
is i get fucked up
when i'm alone

and i must admit
today my inner pessimist
seems to have got the best of me
we start out sugared up on kool-aid and manifest destiny
and we memorize all the president's names
like little trained monkeys
and then we're spit into the world
so many spinny-eyed t.v. junkies
incapable of unravelling the military industrial mystery
preemptively pacified with history book history
and i've bin around the world now
and i can see this about america
the mind control is deep here, man
the myopia is steep here

and behold
those that try to expose the reality
who really try to realize democracy
are shot with rubber bullets and gassed off the streets
while the global power brokers are kept clean and discrete
behind a wall
behind a moat
and that is all
that's all she wrote

and my heart beats an sss o o o sss
cuz folks just couldn't care care care less less less
as long as every day is superbowl sunday
and larger than life women in lingerie
are pouting at us from every bus stop
shelovesme shelovesmenot shelovesme shelovesmenot...

and big government should not stand between a man and his money
cuz "what's good for business is good for the country"

our children still take that lie like communion
the same old line
the confederacy used on the union

conjugate liberty
into libertarian
and medicate it
associate it
with deregulation
privitization
we won't even know we're slaves
on a corporate plantation
somebody say halleluja!
somebody say damnation!
cuz the profit system follows the path of least resistance
and the path of least resistance is what makes the river crooked
makes it serpentine
capitalism is the devil's wet dream
so just give me my judy garland drugs
and let me get back to work
cuz the empire state building
is the tallest building in new york
and i always got the feeling
you just liked to hear it fall

off your tongue

but i remember my name

in your mouth
and i don't think i was done
hearing it close to my ear
on a whisper's way to a moan
but pavlov hits me with more bad news every time i answer the phone
so i play and i sing and i just let it ring all day when i'm at home

a defacto choice of macro
or microcosmic melancholy
but baby, any way you slice it
i'm thinkin i could just as soon use
the time alone



posted by 123454321 at 7:31 PM