Observations in the metro, number 2.

I saw this guy in the metro today, the kind of guy who makes you jealous. He was six foot, six foot one, nicely cut hair, a jaw that looked like it was sculpted by Michelangelo, around thirty years old; you know the type. He was leaning against the doors and reading a newspaper, completely oblivious to everyone around him.  He looked so confident and self-assured.  I was looking at him from my perspective: a man in his forties, five foot seven, a little short on the self confidence side.

I started to really look at him and I noticed a few things that began to change my first impressions. The first thing I noticed were his shoes: they were old and scuffed. His pants were too short and he was wearing grey socks that obviously used to be black. I wondered if he was oblivious to the people surrounding him, or if he was trying to hide behind his newspaper.  I got to wondering what he did for a living; does he like his job, is his job fulfilling, can he pay the rent? Does he love, and is he loved?

At the time I was wearing nice cufflinks and a designer tie, and my pants covered the tops of my shoes. I really like my job, which I find fulfilling, and yes, it pays the rent. I have love in my life. It got me to thinking how first views can be misleading. For all I know, this man just went through a bad breakup (probably because of his refusal to buy new socks), or he was unemployed and on his way to a job interview. We are so quick to appraise on first glance and make judgement. I mean, is this a nice guy, a horrible drunk, or a scientific genius on his way to solve all of the world’s problems? How can you tell? We all see the world through our own self prescribed glasses.

When I got off the metro at my station, I felt better.  I began to wonder what people thought about me when seeing me in the metro. For all I know someone, somewhere, is writing a blog about the short guy with the nice tie who stares at other people. 

Observations in the metro, number 1.

Today riding in the metro, I saw a woman in her sixties wearing a hat, and I said to myself, “does she know she’s wearing such an ugly hat, a hat that is way too young for her?” I mean, does she really think this hat is going to make her the girl she might have been 30 or 40 years ago? Combined with the hat, she wore a skirt that would look good on the corner hooker.  I kind of felt sorry for her as she casually looked around. I could see her looking through lowered eyes at young men who could be the same age as her sons if she had any. I tried to imagine her face without all the wrinkles that the extravagant makeup failed to hide, and I could almost see the young woman of twenty she must have been.  Age has nothing to do with it: there are women in their seventies who look very attractive and confident, but this woman, she is trying too hard to hold on to something that is long gone.

I would have liked to stand up and take her hand and say “It’s alright getting older, as long as you do it with grace and pride for your accomplishments and for the life you have lived.” I would have liked to invite her for a drink. Unfortunately, I was not brave or crass enough to do so. I wonder what happened in her life that she cannot accept the slow, yet inevitable, passage to the place we must all reach. Then again, who the hell am I to judge.

It seems to me that communicating is not always easy.

Communication

What is said is perfectly clear;

The fog of comprehension is dense.

Ideas transmitted in high definition;

Local reception through rabbit ears.

Understanding is a concept not well understood;

Opinions have meaning to those who have opined.

Today’s conversations flow with ease;

Tomorrow’s questions unexpectedly difficult.

What is meant is stated, what is stated not meant;

Clarification is an endangered species.

Concepts lead conceptual lives,

More oft than not brutally murdered by reality.

Internal thoughts are fully expressed,

Internally.

Lately at work, my team has not been getting along that well..........

Together

The curtain rises for the show;

The actors all in place.

Egos clash with rehearsed lines;

Intentions lie in a heap on the floor.

Voices scratch like sandpaper;

Emotions left bleeding by rough tongue.

The audience does not applaud;

Confusion takes a bow.

Consensus desires the stage;

Personal views steal it.

Artistic solutions betray the master’s command;

A collective voice is needed.

Together the actors stand as one;

Singly each one dies a scripted death.

I love that show BROTHERS AND SISTERS, too bad it is not my reality.

Missing

Brothers and sisters born of a mother;

Childhood memories too distant.

Independent lives being lived;

Common courtesy forgotten. 

Sibling rivalry does not exist;

Communication the missing weapon.

Messages sent;

Answers waited for, never received.

Contacts made with anticipation;

Anticipated disappointment shown true.

Filial emotions suffocate in a vacuum;

Indifference thrives without air.

Brothers and sisters by birth;

Strangers by choice.

Ever had one of those days at work?

Futile

Going against the grain;

Sandpaper’s efforts wasted:

Certain woods will not be worn;

Advice falls like red leaves.

Rowing with intent;

The river is the nemesis.

Fear wears the crown;

Complacency has royal blood.

Decision is a rare prince;

Abdication his more popular brother.

Questions hide in shadows;

Courage dies a cowardly death.

Futility reigns.

This is about my visits to my in-laws in Liberia, Costa Rica

Liberia

The air smells different upon arrival;

Life mixes with hope and expectations.

Fear that prejudice tangos with ignorance;

Truth dances with a preconceived menu.

Waves whisper in the moonlight;

The sands beneath breathe a song of freedom.

A beautiful house alive with love and light;

Explanations never asked for nor given.

A welcome, most gracious: a family unexpected.

Tiled living supported by arched columns;

Rocking chairs whisper contentment.

Local sidewalks perform magic tricks,

Disappearing without warning.

Light and music from a tavern suddenly appear;

Easy laughter, curious looks.

The statue in a park speaks of generations,

The graffiti does not remember.

A great tree divides a street,

Its branches unite a people whose memory is long.

Early sunlight brings thoughts of adventure;

Eggs made in the shape of a smile;

Fresh juice, squeezed with knowing hands.

Glimpses of sky down below;

A bubble of joy bursts in expectation.

The ocean rolls relentlessly, shifting thoughts with grains of sand;

Worries wash up like detritus, then taken away.

A symphony plays in spiral hallways;

False echoes sound a lullaby.

Reluctant footprints on the beach;

The sun smoothly slides behind warm welcomes.

The wind whispers of tomorrow.

My partner and I had a little discussion about his control issuses. He is sooooo like his mom...

Control

Inadequacy sows seeds of false control;

To let go is to give in.

From one generation to another no change discerned:

The story goes on as written by familial hand.

The mirror of self shows no flaws;

Distorted reflections of lessons taught.

Tenderness wrapped in barbed wire;

Conviction does not bleed when cut.

Fault easily spread,

Seeds never find the farmer.

Anger grows like moss in shadows;

Fear of humility blocks the light.

Solutions die before birth;

Suicide by ego.

Some friends of mine are getting married next year, and a certain mother is trying to take control......



Dear mom,

I would really like to thank you for giving birth to me, it is really appreciated. I understand from testimonials that you went through a lot of pain and agony, and I realize that this was a testament of your love for me and that your sense of control over me was also born on the same day. I guess you could say that you gave birth to twins that day: me and the loving apron strings that have been wrapped around my throat like the umbilical cord that should have been cut many years ago.

I know that you have always thought that you know what is best for me, and I really am thankful for all the pain I was spared because of your loving interventions. I also learned in school the importance of the separation of church and state to make sure that god had no control over free will when it comes to making wedding plans. Because I was taught by you to make decisions for my own life as a grown man, I respect your second guessing of my decision making abilities as an adult.

We live so far apart, yet, because of your frequent expressions of maternal love, it seems that we share the same house. Your nightly phone calls, full of motherly ideas of matrimonial bliss, are sandpaper to smooth away my own false preconceptions of happiness.

I really do appreciate your (s)mothering; without your timely advice, I am quite sure that I would have been engaged to a banker or something as horrid. Your suggestions and advice are always welcome, but please, this is my wedding; let me be queen for a day.

Your loving son.

One of my friends asked me to write a diplomatic letter to an annoying friend...



Dearest friend,

I would like to take a few minutes to thank you for the sincerity you continually show in our relationship. Your consistent willingness to assert your opinions is only surpassed by the inconsistency in the number of times that you are actually right. Your views are forceful and show an incredible lack of thought to the point where the only explanation could be an endless amount of practice. I congratulate you on your perseverance and wish you continued success.

I would also like to say that I admire your incredible talents. You are one of the most creative people I have ever met: the creative things you do with the truth are nothing short of sheer artistry. You bend words like a magician bends a spoon, with the pure power of his imagination. I can only imagine what it is like to live in your world where every thought and opinion is as well rounded as you are. Alas, we cannot all be so lucky to live in a fantastic world where opposition is swept away by a tide of indignation.

I would like to thank you for taking time from your busy schedule to remind our dear friend in Toronto of my possible memory lapse in wishing him a happy birthday. Your foresight into my possible early onset of Alzheimer’s is really quite thoughtful. One could almost say that your anticipation of this forgetfulness on my part was a premeditated act of kindness.

I would like to thank you in advance for your future lack of calls to my partner and I; your missing presence will be appreciated to no end.

Sincerely, and I do mean sincerely,

Annoyed friend.

Been feeling a little bothered lately by stupid people who infest my life, time for a martini!

Disconnected


Every day the sun shines the same;
Yellow, bright, boring light.
Every day the wind is the same;
It just gets in the way, like people on sidewalks.
Every day people pretend to want to smile;
The wilted flowers shed tears of dust.
Every-day frustrations blossom;
Mushrooms thrive on subway platforms.
Every day incivility is excused;
Politics wears a comedic mask.
Every day the truth grows weary,
Embarrassed by a thousand lies.

All the ignorant bullying and gay bashing going on is really pathetic, but the positive backlash that it has caused is interesting.



Bullying


Taunts thrown like fists full of nails,
Each spike pierces the soul.
Insults yelled out in ignorance;
Youth ended in blood and confusion:
Leviticus named.
Ignorance in the spotlight of stained glass windows;
The thorny crown is blameless.
The catholic pope dictates ropes of reason,
The protestant priests provide the tree.
Supported by columns of faith,
The foundation of lies refuses to crumble.
Innocent cries of hurt and pain;
Strength awakened,
The dance begins to change.
The bright light of truth slowly rises,
The shadows caused by centuries old verses shrivel.
False claims of world destruction,
Alarmist visions begin to fade.
Change dressed in sheep’s clothing;
A lamb will change the world.