Athena Came By And She's Pissed.

She rose from her pedestal, descending in a monolithic leap of faith, her softened stone heal found the earth

and it shook.

"Here me! I have sounded you for a certainty and found you wanting."

Ageless and ancient the eyes that have seen and heard the wiles and wales of the mass below for an eternity...and then again. Cheeks rise and pigeon from lips carved, nay chiseled and pursed.  She smells like cardamom and coffee from the East.

"THEREFORE! Rather than spit you out and start again. I will gnash you together until there is no more distinction, no more individuality, no more YOU or THEM. Legs and arms and torsos, mashed like potato and herb until it is one mass of red and brown and yellow and black and blue and pink, a rainbow of flesh blood Bone fluids and identity.

From now on you will look in the mirror and see him, or her, them, and not know the difference. You will eat when they eat. You will drink what they drink, watch what they watch and laugh when they laugh. You will become fracture, splinter, dispersed like a mist into a larger cloud and you will call it "REALITY" and "NORMAL". 

The rain began to fall, marking her floured skin spotted. She looked up into the Sun. 

"How did we let it get like this?"

Then she turned her eyes to the shadows before her, wiped the rain from her eye, then returned to her place above the earth.

"You are losing your children, of what consequence is an IPhone?"

A friend of mine told me a story yesterday about a former student who took her life recently, she was 14. It got me thinking, how many bullied kids have we heard about in the past couple of years submit the same vote of "no confidence" regarding our culture and society? Quite a few, I think, when certainly one is too many.

Kids killing themselves, each other, and routinely dying at the hands of violence is simply unacceptable.The "techno-revolution" has proven itself a charade in its inability to defend its young. What parent would not suggest the same of another who allowed such mistreatment of their own?

"You are losing your children, of what consequence is an IPhone?"

My now half decade of recent educational experience, time spent mostly with your kids and grandkids, has caused me to believe that the STEM of the problem is the pressure our culture has leveraged upon the barely-formed shoulders of a generation in conflict with itself.

The technological age has dramatically increased the level at which we can and do receive information and opinion. It's not like our children's brains were suddenly and magically prepared for the deluge of sensual content that we as adults were having little success in rationalizing, (I submit the fact that federal laws regarding technology are woefully behind the pace of technological innovation as evidence that we STILL have no idea what we are doing).

And yet, we gave no consideration to the evident evolutionary gap between the supply of information and the human ability to consume on a psychological, emotional, and cognitive plane. Even though the evidence was readily apparent in the cultural misgivings towards technology as a double-edged sword, which, if mishandled, or put forth to ill purpose, could result in cultural, perhaps even bigger, social catastrophe, we led our children to the computer desk and then, like a cultural arms race, we chased technology, with our kids in tow, hoping they would somehow understand the chaos around them that we had constructed as reality.

And now our chickens are coming home to roost and what are we doing? Shackling our educational system to the point that innovation is punished. Education is no longer about nurturing children to adulthood and citizenship, the development of the noble, Cosmopolitan. We are building children to compete technologically with our so-called, " global competition."

Have any idea what the suicide rate is like in that country?

So what's the solution? There isn't one. There are millions. They have faces and they are probably somewhere close. Look at them and ask yourself, "if I was your age, what would I think of the world and what would I need to know, what intellectual and cultural foundation would I need to be able to reconcile and navigate the great technological sea?"

What's your answer? If it's, "a new Ipad," you totally missed the point.

Marquez and the King

Of the following former and current Motogp legends, which won their first two premiere class championships (500cc and above), in their rookie and sophomore seasons?

Valentino Rossi

Casey Stoner

Mick Doohan

Kevin Schwantz

Fast Freddie Spencer

King Kenny Roberts

Eddie Lawson

Wayne Rainey

If you said Valentino Rossi, you would be wrong. In fact, even the mythic Mick Doohan, was unable to accomplish this paradoxically brilliant feat. Who then, amongst these names that still ring hallowed through the halls of motorcycle racing history, was able to tame this seeming contradiction of the terms “rookie” and “champion”? None other than the King himself: Kenny Roberts Sr.*

motorcyclemuseum.org

During his rookie season in the FIM 500cc class World Championship in 1978, Kenny took the road-racing world by storm by beating out another giant, Barry Sheene, in the last race of the season to establish himself as the first US Champion in the history of GP racing. Kenny would then go on to win his second championship the following season.

Fast-forward 35 years later and another rider, another PHENOM, now chases the King for his crown. 

Marquez 2013; c. johndavidflores

Marc Marquez, the brilliant young prodigy from Spain, today joined Kenny Sr. as one of only a handful**, ever to win their first GP championships in their rookie and sophomore seasons.

Some will argue that a good portion of Marquez success lies in the superiority of his team and hardware, (tires are a wash since they all use the same manufacturer). But is it the bike or the rider that is the cause and effect of the surreal success of this young 20-something?

Pedrosa 2013; c. johndavidflores

As a long time fan of the sport, my opinion is that it is more flesh than carbon that is source of the young man’s continued dominance. I base this on the sole fact that he is competing against some of the most dangerous riders ever to ride on slicks, all legends in their own right: Rossi, Lorenzo, Pedrosa, all world class riders, and all have skin in the game. These are proud men who must be stunned at the audacity and precociousness of the young King.

Well, maybe all except one: Rossi.

Rossi 2013; c. johndavidflores

When Rossi came to town, much like Marquez, he turned the Motogp world on its head.

He was the greatest thing the sport had ever seen. Not since Agostini, had a young rider exemplified such natural talent and ability.

But in the wake of that greatness now surges a new face, not unlike the young Italian Rossi’s at the beginning of the century: full of confidence and determination to prove that they not only belong, but have come to win, and win often. King Kenny no doubt looks at the accomplishments of both, and nods his approval.

*,** Mike Hailwood, Giacomo Agostini, Barry Sheene, all won their first two championships in their rookie and sophomore seasons.

Early in dem mornin'

It was early in dem morninn, at the end, before their beginnin … before we knew anythin about anythin, before we felt safer and never ‘gainst. Moonlight in dem nights terror moments makes a circle round all of dem whats good. Not everyone can see her but mine blind eyes blessed by dem Ones could see clear her halos in relief.

“Watcha gonna do to dem dere angry runts dem Constantine?

He just lookin round his eyes so wide and beautiful like dem stars beyond the way beyond. After dem minutes she tell time day gonna run I turn and see he stop and washed with tears and dem trembling.

“For Holy Soul such a time you have with dem washin your face so pretty! Cantcha wait dem Constatine for yer relaxin later?!”

I keep dem runnin.

Wakin' Up in Winchester

This is a story idea about an enlisted man that is killed and then wakes up to find he is part of an ancient organization of what are called "Grims".

Grims are responsible for witnessing all deaths in the world.

The first chapter is the short story I wrote two years ago, "12:01".

This, the Second Chapter, takes place at the end of the Second Battle of Winchester in 1863.

"Awakin sound is the first miracle of a dead man. Soaked in mud and blood with an old dog lying at my side, I thanked the Lord for letting me die beside a friend and if for nothin’ else, cuz it was the last warm thing I felt."

I got up and soon realized that death was nothing like the preacher said.

I remember when my ol’ pappy told me he used t’ hear voices after people died, not in his head mind you, but near the bodies. I used t’ think he was maybe high on his own lightnin’, if y’ take my meanin’, but now I know ... Death follows you as certain as God’s will.

There was still fightin goin on but I wasn't part of it. It's like they didn't even notice. I stood in horror, impotent, and screamed while Ewell's forces howled like banshees as they set our tents alight ... a sound I may never forget while I am amongst the livin.

I was dead surely but where was God’s voice? Where was his Archangel Michael? Where was St. Peter? Suddenly I realized I could see through my hand … through everything. I wasn’t made of flesh anymore but mist. Mist that only I could see …

“Zachariah?”

It was a voice I recognized but still I was frightened … Grams died 15 years or so …

“Zach, you hear me boy?”

It was her, still telling me what to do.

I turned around and nearly fainted, if that’s what ya call it when your flesh is spiritual.

She was standin before me like the old crow she was but even more menacing, I shuddered,

“Ya Gram I hear you. What are you doin here? You been dead nearly 15 years?”

For the first time I can remember, the old lady smiled,

“I’m here because you are a worthless human being and you need help boy!”

I paused and wondered if maybe I was dreamin.

“WAKE UP STUPID! You ain’t sleepin, you’re dead just like me.”

I fell down but nothing touched me, and then everything went black.

In an instant, I felt the hands of my Gran round my neck as she pulled me from the darkness,

“BOY ARE YOU CRAZY! THIS AIN’T NO TIME TO SLEEP!”

It was like I was wakin from a nightmare of the kind you get when you got a fever, then I felt a slap.

“I said WAKE UP BOY! You can’t leave us now!”

I heard angels singin and then the sound of the ocean like I was dreamin of Folly and I thought, I don’t need to fight no more…

And then I felt another slap, only harder…

“DAMMIT! YOU NO GOOD SON OF A BASTARD! DON’T YOU LEAVE YOUR OL’ GRAM HERE TO CLEAN UP YOUR GOD DAMN MESS! Jesus save me.”

And my eyes opened, and there she was again, standing over me, and if mist could have a color, I’d say her cheeks were pink,

“Stop hittin me GRAM, I’m awake!”

As Ginger As You Please.

Sometimes, I feel like I could moan all day what with all the achin goin on.

See that girl there, the one with the stains on her dress? She just plain retarded; got something wrong in her head, poor girl trusts everybody. She ain’t my family, but I see how trustin she is and sometimes, I worry, “How’s that child gonna survive in this world?” I worry sometimes, more than I probably should.

Just the other day I saw this white man walkin down the street wearin only underpants. He was walkin down a busy street at Noon, as ginger as you please, wearin’ nothin’ but his underpants! And, it was one of the hottest days of the summer!

No socks or shoes; dazed look on his face, I thought, “He’s either high on drugs or there’s something wrong with him,” but no one seemed to care but me. I ain't ashamed to admit I cried about it on the bus ride home. Not about the boy, but that no one cared enough to do something about it ...

I ask myself sometimes what I would do if Life put me to the test and I was forced to care or not. Would I be able to face myself in the mirror the next day? Or, would I be just like everyone else?

Homage to Elton

Eatin rotten peaches outside the Holiday inn

Listenin to Levon tell me about his father, Jesus.

It’s just another Border Song sixty years on where a honky cat

Can burn down the mission if she likes

Razor face, Daniel and me

Sang “Someone Saved My Life Tonight” to the madman across the water.

He nodded, waved and said, “goodbye, yellow brick road,” and then, just like strange rain, he was gone.

Hey there tiny dancer, have you heard the “ballad of a well-known gun”?

She said, “Take me to the pilot. The King must die!”

“Where to St. Peter?” I replied.

And she laughed and put her hands around my waist, and then whispered in my ear,

“Amoreena, we’re on the bad side of the moon. Can I put you on?”

And I shivered, “I ain’t Hercules but if you’ve got some elderberry wine Amy, then I will take you to crocodile rock. Just have mercy on the criminal.”

And the mona lisas and mad hatters all nodded their approval.

Her hands found my shoulders and her cheek my own, then she breathed,“Don't let the sun go down on me," while we stood beneath the empty sky.

She led me to Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy harbored near the town of Babel. But before I could board she stopped and pulled me close. “Tell me when the whistle blows, Gulliver,” then kissed me goodbye.

Sailing south with bitter fingers, I could see her beauty come down in time beneath the Indian sunset. “We all fall in love sometimes, Susie.” I yelled like a chorus of talking old soldiers. “This isn’t a funeral for a friend you Jamaica Jerk off! It's Salvation.” Maybe I am better off dead, I thought as the sails fell like curtains around us.

jpb and me ca78

Running up wet grassy knolls

Little muddied savages

In a childish frenzy

of Arms legs raindrops

And the carelessness of the Devil,

Roaring like lion cubs

Wrestling unconsciously with their shadows.

The Lost ReD Poppy aka. the end of WWI

“Isn’t there seed neath your apron Mattie?” I asked but knew the answer before she spoke,

“Aye, there is. Seed from your garden, and the like,” she answered with a smile.

I felt relieved.

“The trail leads us all Mattie, whether the flowers bloom or not,” I said in earnest.

Mattie reached into her apron and pulled out a remembrance poppy and gave it to me.

“Lead that,” she said.

I took the flower and raised it up. It shined like a blood red sky with a black sun in the middle.

“Mattie, you sure no one will notice?” I asked with a smirk.

She stood and stared while I pinned it above my tit, “I doubt anyone will care John,” she said with a note of sadness in her voice.

Johnny and the Devil

Johnny was dancin with th edevil nice and slow, like lovers on their last dance.

I stood there and watched in amazement, all slack jaw and wide-eyed,

finally I called out, “You can’t do that Johnny Boy! That Devil is gonna BURN you son!”

But Johnny just smiled at me, like he knew better.

He was dancin on that fire boy, not burnin!

And I laughed and cried like a wild man let loose,

“You go now Johnny Boy! YOU GO NOW SON!

DANCE like you ain’t never gonna see the sun rise again!

DANCE NOW BOY!”

And they danced, and they danced, and then suddenly Johnny started to scream out in a sweat,

“I FEEL IT BOY! I FEEL THE HEAT! I FEEL IT!”

It was like waking from a dream. I got up off the floor, my eye’s were aflame, dried streaks of sweat and tears upon my cheeks and I screamed like I was a god,

“JOHNNY DON’T YOU LET THAT OL’ DEVIL TAKE YOU! DON’T YOU GO!”

But I was too late.

Johnny and the Devil were gone.

Mowing Normandy

I remember the smell of grandfather’s beard, the smell of his polyester shirts. I remember how his skin folded in creases on his forehead, the liver spots. I remember he was a great man, survived the invasion of Normandy,

“Hey Grandpa, tell me about the War. Tell me about the Invasion. Did you have to kill anyone?”

Grandpa didn’t look at you when he told stories, as if he was recalling the event straight from a vision only he could see. He would rest his head on his hand, with his index finger aside his nose, and his thumb below his chin, and then he would start talking,

“There isn’t much to say, I was just trying to stay alive. Bullets were flying everywhere. Men were falling like rag dolls. There was lots of blood and flashes, and screaming. I just kept running, running away from the bullets.”

He paused to adjust his black, horn-rimmed glasses, as if replacing the first memory with the next.

“Did you have to kill anyone?”

He looked up at me, “Who knows? Not then. Why are you so interested in killing?”

I felt guilty but didn’t know why. I thought about it for a minute, my grandfather’s steely grey eyes still upon me, waiting with infinite patience.

I shrugged, “I don’t know. I guess I wonder what it feels like …to…to kill a man.”

I waited for him to respond, and waited. He took off his glasses and pulled a dingy hanky from his pant pocket and began wiping the lenses.

“What benefit is it to you to know what I felt? You’re not me.”

He put his glasses back on and again rested his head on his hand and stared at me. A soft breeze came through the window behind us and blew the curtain gently inward. I looked outside. It was a brilliant summer day in the Bay Area.

I watched the neighbor mowing his lawn. For a moment, I fantasized, he and I were locked in mortal combat on the TURF PRO sod outside his house. I snapped out of it.

“Still, I want to know what you felt, whether it applies or not.”

He pursed his lips and took a deep breath through both nostrils, and then exhaled. He sat up,

“I felt nothing, except fear. Fear of dying, fear of living, fear of killing.”

Then he walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, and went out back to sit by the pool. While I watched our neighbor mowing our lawn.

Another blog.

I have begun working on another, erm, more accessible blog. here it is. remarkable how many views it has already.

http://amiddleagedgamer.blogspot.com/

i will continue to work on both blogs as time allows... grad school you know.

Ain't Nothing Wrong With That

Steppin outside like it was a sunny day, a something pretty day, a ‘somewhere’ you and me day

Stepping outside and feeling like it was a sunny something somewhere pretty, you and me day,

And man,

There ain’t nothing wrong with that.

Wonderin aloud with you warmin me inside

And I think I love you.

I think I love you.

And man,

There ain’t nothing wrong with that.

There’s just sunset on the horizon and you blowin in my ear

I’m not sure if I’m dreamin but you’re alive and the thing is…

I don’t want to wake up.

And baby,

There ain’t nothin'

Wrong

With that.