I’m Really not a Violent Man

September 15, 2009

I’m Really not a Violent Man

I’m really not a violent man
That’s something you should know
But I could kill with my bare hands

My family bled to get this land
We’re not about to let it go
I’m really not a violent man

To serve the interests of my clan
I’d suffer any blow
But I could kill with my bare hands

It must be part of some great plan
This gruesome tale of woe
I’m really not a violent man

This dreadful little plot of sand
Is hardly worth my little toe
But I could kill with my bare hands

When dirt means more than any man
Then someone’s blood must flow
I’m really not a violent man
But I could kill with my bare hands

by Richard W. Bray

I Let it Fall

September 14, 2009

(I’ll continue with some more villanelles for the next few days. I’m goofy for villanelles. Some of my favorites are “Mad Girl’s Love Song,” “If I could Tell You” and “The Waking.” The cool thing about villanelles is that once you’ve written the first three lines, you’re 42% finished.

There are various ways this poem could be read. I’m not even sure how I wrote it. But it is not meant in any way to advocate suicide. Whether or not any of us deserves to live, an existential outlook requires that we try at least to make the best of it. My poem “Although You cannot Bless” makes it obvious that I don’t have much use for the concept of Grace, but here is an eloquent rebuttal from someone who does.)

I Let it Fall

You flung your heart at me, I let it fall
The greatest gift that I could ever know
I don’t deserve to live, no not at all

Imagine the stupidity and gall
To annihilate what still had room to grow
You flung your heart at me, I let it fall

I sit and cry and try not to recall
The only thing that ever made me whole
I don’t deserve to live, no not at all

I’ll weep and plead and kneel and beg and crawl
But it’s too late to let my feelings show
You flung your heart at me, I let it fall

You won’t see me and won’t return my call
I fear that this will be the final blow
I don’t deserve to live, no not at all

I cannot navigate beyond this wall
I guess it’s really time for me to go
You flung your heart at me, I let it fall
I don’t deserve to live, no not at all

by Richard W. Bray

Fastidious Fred

September 10, 2009

Fastidious Fred

Fastidious Fred makes his own bed
It takes him half an hour
And you can bet, if he breaks a sweat
He always takes a shower

Everyone knows, he irons his clothes
Until they look like new
“It takes all day,” he likes to say,
“But what’s a guy to do?”

“I demand perfection beyond detection
And will not tolerate
Things deficient or insufficient
Or somehow second rate”

He had a wife, the light of his life
But she did not make the cut
He sent her away one rainy day
When the door was improperly shut

“It may sound cruel, but I need my rules
They bring order to my life
Discipline and a strict regimen
Protect me from chaos and strife”

Fred lives alone in an immaculate home
And no one comes to see him
His house is clean and downright pristine
But no one wants to be him

by Richard W. Bray

Seinfeld and Gilligan’s Island

September 9, 2009

Seinfeld and Gilligan’s Island

I’m reluctant to admit this publicly, but I never really liked Seinfeld. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about having such peculiar tastes. On the contrary, I enjoy being the iconoclast. But whenever someone says that something that really happened is “just like that time on Seinfeld when…”, I say coyly, “I must have missed that episode.” In the past, when I still had the temerity to admit that I don’t watch the show, I was just asking for trouble. People act like I’m the one who has a problem because I don’t enjoy watching a bunch of thirty-(and then forty)-somethings behaving like clueless perpetual adolescents.

Tales of urban angst just don’t appeal to me. Frankly, I just don’t give a rat’s patootie whether or not a bunch of Caucasian grownups are able to get their soup and still make it to the movies on time. (You may contend that Jews are not exactly considered white in America, which is certainly an arguable position, but I would put them in the Recently White category, along with the Irish and the Italians. See, for example, Ignatiev’s provocative How the Irish Became White.)

I have nothing against people who choose to live in big cities. But unless you’re filthy-stinking rich, urban living just doesn’t make sense for educated, upwardly mobile grownups. I can understand why it would be exciting to live in the big city at an age when a person is young, fearless and practically penniless. But sooner or later, it’s time to put away childish things.

(Full Disclosure: I am an unrepentant suburbanite. I am happiest living in a house on the ground with as many trees and plants around as the modern city planning will allow. When I see a show on tv about grownups who make enough money to get the hell out of the concrete jungle, I almost wince at their lack of good sense. I can practically smell the stink of Jerry’s apartment and hear the cockroaches scuttling around his kitchen.)

But the real reason I don’t enjoy Seinfeld is, curiously enough, the same reason I never enjoyed watching Gilligan’s Island: Just as Gilligan and company will never get off their island, the characters on Seinfeld are a bunch of stupid losers who will never rise above their mundane quotidian quest for…I can’t even guess about what would make these people happy because the whole point of the show is about their perpetual frustration. I simply can’t root for these people, which is essential for me when I watch a sitcom.

I can handle a movie or a novel peopled with a bunch of pathetic, unlovable louts. But when it comes to watching a sitcom week after week, I have to care about the characters. Of course, this is totally subjective. Ted Baxter, Louie De Palma and The Harpers, despicable as they may be, are all vulnerable and thus lovable to me. Go figure.

by Richard W. Bray

Advice

September 8, 2009

guru

Advice

I’m not you and you’re not me and thus it isn’t wise
For me to say what you should do or simply to advise
Anyone on how to live or say what I would do
If I were somehow in your skin living life for you

If I could live your whole life and feel all your feelings
Then I would be the perfect guy to handle all your dealings
But if you want to hear me say “What I would do if I were you…”
I’m afraid the only answer is “I haven’t got a clue”

Looking back on things I’ve done and things I thought I’d do
I must admit how many times my forecasts were untrue
I’d love to tell you what to do, but it mustn’t be
I can’t predict what I would do even if I were me

by Richard W. Bray

Although You cannot Bless

September 7, 2009

640px-Center_of_the_Milky_Way_Galaxy_IV_–_Composite

Oh look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress;
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless

–W.H. Auden

Although You cannot Bless

My life remains a blessing
I’m thankful every day
And yet it leaves me guessing
To whom then I should pray

My planet’s seven billion
I’m clearly near the top
God knows how many millions
Feed on gruel and slops

In the slums of Rio
A waif who could be me
Was shot by a policeman
Who does this for a fee

I never curse my Maker
I cherish every breath
I’m not a bellyacher
Exalt unto my death

You tell me my good fortune
Is contingent on His grace
As if God were a human
Who lives in outer space

But that leads me to wonder
Exactly who to scold
When so many are pushed under
By the knowing and the bold

You say to all who suffer
“It’s according to His plan”
Because it’s so much tougher
To explain the ways of man

Humans are not central
In this big old universe
And we only have each other
For better and for worse

(Note on Light Verse: Kurt Vonnegut complained that critics mistook Science Fiction for a urinal, and that’s how I feel about Light Verse, as any rhymed and metered poetry not written by Richard Wilbur is derisively categorized. Even when Phyllis McGinley writes of nuclear annihilation, it’s not really that serious, it’s just light verse. At least it’s nice to see Dorothy Parker and Ogden Nash beginning to sneak into the anthologies.)

by Richard W. Bray

Five Deferment Dick

September 4, 2009
5DD

5DD

Colonel Lawrence Wilkerson on Dick Cheney:

He’s a fearful man”

“[He is] putting out idiocy of the first order.”

“He has told more lies from a public pulpit than almost anyone I’ve known.”

Five Deferment Dick

You know what’s really sick?
Five Deferment Dick:
Cowardly vicious fool
Walking torture school
Wanton font of slime
Living breathing crime
Former head of state
Paragon of hate
An imitation man
Who never had a plan
Thousands maimed and dead
Because he lost his head
You know what’s really sick?
Five Deferment Dick

(Note on Col. Wilkerson: It’s been my observation working in the public sector that mendacity and stupidity are two of the chief lubricants which keep the wheels of bureaucracy turning. That’s why it amazes me that someone as candid and intelligent as Wilkerson was able to achieve the rank of Colonel. Hell, he’s clever and plainspoken enough to be a sergeant.)

by Richard W. Bray

Cool is a cool word

September 3, 2009

cool word

Cool is a cool word. It is extremely elastic (twenty-eight definitions in dictionary.com), but I’m more impressed with its staying power.

The Urban Dictionary has 128 definitions for the word cool, including:

#5. An adjective referring to something that is very good, stylish, or otherwise positive. It is among the most common slang terms used in today’s world.

#16. Perhaps the ultimate slang word.

#32. [A] word that can be used by everyone, young and old and not sound weird, too modern or used [exclusively] by any certain race.

The amazing thing about the word cool is its linguistic longevity. Synonyms for cool (definition #5, very good, stylish, or otherwise positive) have come upon the scene with great speed and regularity over the last fifty plus years. This is probably because coolness has a strong element of exclusivity. As soon as the old and uninitiated latch onto the latest word for cool, it’s not cool anymore, and a new word will quickly emerge to take its place. Here is a partial list of words for cool which have come and gone over the last several decades (in no particular order):

Groovy, neat, hip, def, phat, heavy, bitchin, awesome, swell, sick, wicked, fresh, radical, gnarly, hunky dory, stupid, keen, radical, dope, sweet, fly, key, live, chill, tight, excellent, boss, dandy, hunky dory…

All of these words, usually sooner rather than later, have fallen by the wayside. But not so for cool, which inexplicably lives on and on.

by Richard W. Bray

Chuck Norris Explains his Major Contribution to Western Civilization

September 2, 2009

Chuck Norris Explains his Major Contribution to Western Civilization

I make the world a better place
By kicking people in the face

by Richard W. Bray

Confessions of a not-so-Old Curmudgeon

September 1, 2009

ouyku

Confessions of a not-so-Old Curmudgeon:
A Reactionary Screed for our Time

I never thought I would be such a young old fuddy duddy. As a not exactly doddering forty-six year old, I’m not quite ready to go into those fist-shaking, when-I-was-your-age, Sonny diatribes, but I seem to be much closer to the stereotype of the guy chasing kids off his lawn than I am to my own youthful self.

When I was younger (so much younger than today), I got really annoyed when people over forty spoke derisively about my music my movies, my clothes, my g-g-g-generation. I swore that no matter how old I got, I would never make scornful sweeping generalizations about people just because they were younger than me. This conviction was bolstered with the knowledge that, as sociologist Mike Males and others have pointed out, What’s the Matter with Kids These Days? has been a perennial preoccupation for grownups for thousands of years.

Well, that was then, this is now…

When did people become so damn helpless? It’s gotten to the point where a large percentage of young people can’t scratch their derrieres without texting eleven friends to brag about it. Cell phones have become an indispensable appendage, but instead of liberating young people, telephones are like a ball and chain fettering them to a network of nattering nonsense. From the moment they arise until they pass out (maybe I’m projecting a little too much from my own youth here), people are in constant contact, and it’s clearly arresting their development. Today, people can communicate with one another at any time from just about anywhere on the planet, but that doesn’t mean we have to.

Solitude and separation can be a good thing because they help to clear the mind and refine the thinking process. For example, when I took my youthful sojourn to Europe, postcards were my only contact with my friends for over three months. This gave me time to reflect on my life and note the difference between cultures.

And is it possible for the narcissistic youth of today to have more than two friends over for a beer without taking a bunch of pictures and posting them on Facespace or whatever the hell they’re calling it now? (And we thought the baby boomers were the ultimate paragons of solipsism.) Despite having access to more information about what’s happening in the world than any previous generation, today’s youth are more prone to utilize this marvelous technology for enhanced navel gazing. Information from virtually any newspaper on the planet is available at our fingertips, yet so many of us would rather hear the latest mindless tweet from some pseudo-celebrity.

Unlike many of my cantankerous predecessors, I’m not saying that the youth of today are too rebellious. On the contrary, these screen-addled drones aren’t angry enough. Where’s the outrage for the four thousand mostly young people who have died in a totally unjustified war? Where’s the rage over global warming? Where’s the anger about rising tuitions which will force today’s college students to live in debt bondage for much of their careers? And why aren’t young people marching in the streets to protest how us grownups have mortgaged away their future in so many ways?

Today I’m too young for the rocking chair (but old enough to find thoughts of such rhythmic swaying somewhat comforting). I always thought I was the kind of guy who would remain hip until I was at least sixty. Now, I’m not even sure I want to be cool any more.

by Richard W. Bray