Family, Logic, Love, Parental Love, Reason

My Rational Mother

Almost certainly because I composed a poem about her this morning, I am missing my mom, who died a year ago to this month.  And as so often happens, one of the three or four top things I’m missing is her rationality.

I’m under the impression most folks simply do not closely associate rationality with their mothers.  I hope that’s more because they value other things, such as love, so much more than because their mothers were not very rational.  But it would not be much of an exaggeration to say, my mother was, not merely rational, but hyper-rational.

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Emotions, Family, Love, Parental Love, Passion, Poetry

Of All That Her Heart Ever Past to Mine

(About a 2 minute read)

I am grateful to my mother
For her last words to me
Which she spoke months
Before her death at 99.

She was by then bound
To a wheelchair, her body
Scared from operations
And with parts missing
That had betrayed her
Long before the day
She last spoke to me.

She was not always there,
Drifted in and out at times.
Mostly out. Long ago
Her wonderful mind
Began confusing itself.
Her personality changed too.
Now she could be rude
And aggressive, callous
And cruel.

It froze my heart,
Hurt like ice on fire,
When she was like that,
So much someone else.
So much already gone.

Though she was never
Like that to me.
Just the kind staff
At her final home.

And I resented
That I’d lost her —
Her wisdom, insight,
Humor and advice.

I could yearn,
Like an infant yearns
To suckle a breast,
To hear her witty
Observations again.

My brother called me
From her room
But she was too deaf
To hear me over the phone,

And maybe didn’t know
What was going on at all.

Then she caught on
And I heard “Is that Paul?”

Suddenly her voice was young,
Twenty years younger and clean,
Clean as a huge boulder
After a mountain storm.

Crisp as a Hawk’s beak,
And out-stretching to me
Like an eagle’s wings.

Her voice rose
Like a sacred breeze,
And she with passionate force,
So forcefully I felt
Her turning her head
Towards the phone:

“I love you, Paul!”

The words were words
Commonly said by moms
But they were alive.

Of all that her heart
Ever passed to mine,
Of all of the gifts
My mother ever gave me,

None was finer than
Her last.

This poem was inspired by Tylor J. Mintz’s Love From Another Place.

Agape, Altruism, Art, Authenticity, Awe, Beauty, Being True To Yourself, Brotherly Love, Children, Community, Creativity, Dance, Education, Emotions, Enlightenment, Erotic Dance, Erotic Love, Ethics, Extended Family, Fairness, Family, Free Spirit, Freedom, Freedom and Liberty, Friends, Fun, Giving, Happiness, Honesty, Horniness, Human Nature, Humanism, Humanities, Ideas, Love, Lovers, Loyalty, Mature Love, Morality, Mysticism, Nature, New Love, Parental Love, Passion, Peace, People, Philos, Redemption, Romantic Love, Science, Self-determination, Self-Integration, Self-Knowledge, Self-Realization, Sense of Relatedness, Sex, Sexuality, Society, Spirituality, Talents and Skills, Transformative Experience, Unconditional Love, Vacilando, Wisdom

The Importance of Redemption

(About a 5 minute read)

I sometimes get the impression that plenty of us tackle the big ideas in life almost the day we escape our cribs for the first time.

“Gurk! Life is mine to seize! I see it clearly now.  I shall be my own hero. Gerp!” Or, “Poppels! But our capacity to love is what most defines us as moral. Twurks!  What’s this?  Why, it must be what what ma-ma calls, ‘poo’.  And look!  It’s endlessly shape-able!”

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Abuse, Adolescence, Adolescent Sexuality, Alienation, Art, Artist, Attached Love, Attachment, Celibacy, Competence, Erotic Love, Ethics, Free Spirit, Horniness, Human Nature, Lovers, People, Political Issues, Quality of Life, Relationships, Self, Self-Knowledge, Sex, Sexuality, Sexualization, Values, Wisdom

I Dumped Her When She Soaked Me With Buckets of Love

(About a 6 minute read)

Ask nearly anyone to sum up adolescence in a few words and most likely one of those words will be “confusing”.  Whatever else it is, that word is just as focused on a key truth as a teenage boy is focused on his friend’s suddenly perky nipples the very first time he espies them by the light of the werewolf moon.

What is often not mentioned, however, is how frequently adolescent confusions turn all manner of relationships into cruel ropes that jerk their victims back when they try to run from a bad situation.  Even blind or unintended abuse is magnified by the fact kids bond so quickly and firmly to each other.

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Family, Life, Love

Mom Died a Year Ago

(About a 3 minute read)

My mother died a year ago this month of old age. She was 99. But I lost her half a decade before, maybe a little earlier than that. Not to dementia at first — that would come later — but to Fox News.

Like so many older people she’d gotten sucked into that hole, her logic and reason swirling down its drain, obscenely undervalued now by her, and by them.  They who are such cutting stupid whores, they take pride in how well they spread their diseases.

She was lost to me, of course. I’d reached an age when I wanted to ask her the important questions — the questions I’d always wanted to ask, but couldn’t as a teen — the questions only she would know the answers to,  and might be trusted by me to tell:

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Abuse, Alienation From Self, Child Sexuality, Children, Sexuality, Sexualization

If I Got My Hands on You

(About a 2 minute read)

TRIGGER WARNING: Childhood sexual abuse.


How many ways
Can you fuck up a child
That will fuck
Her up for life?

I’ve seen your work.
You’re a sick fuck
And a craftsman alright.

Emily, Diane,
Paula, and Tomoko,
Others I knew less well,
Were all turned
On your lathe
And to your standards.

She lacks boundaries now.
Knows every innuendo
In the English language,
Sticks her hands
Down boy’s pants,
Jumps from bed to bed,
Slow dances with your leg
Between her thighs
At too young an age,
Trying to make sense
Of what all you did before
You tossed her naked
In the finished bin.

She talks in even, objective tones
About her profane second birth
About the things you did
To shape the life she now has.

She grew up
Through the cracks
Though you pave over her.
But her roots are shallow,
Her leaves small and gnawed,
Stems short and thin.

Still she keeps coming back.
You’ve got to hand it to her:
Still she keeps coming back
Whenever someone cuts her,
Wacks her down again

People say, “You’re a slut”,
Not knowing it’s you
Who was first a slut to her,
You who turned her one.

People say, “Why the anger?”.
People say, “Why the hate?”,
And “Stop teasing me, bitch.”

They don’t know and I doubt
Even you know all that you did.

Sometimes you turn them worse
Than you usually do:
Volcanic tempers and abusers

You can still love her
Like that — it’s not like
She’s nothing more than her abuse.
But you must leave her anyway.
It’s either you or her
In the end.

You crucified me too.
Thrust your lance in my heart
I’ve paid in blood and in tears
For her that I loved.

You fuck with a child,
You fuck her friends too,
You fuck her lovers hard,
You fuck everyone who
Will ever love her,

Everyone who will ever
Come close enough to care,
Close enough to know
The machine marks
For what they are.

You’re the weed man,
The wacker, the monster
And the centurion all.
Your the prince of darkness
That’s darker than black.

No matter how fine the suits
That you wear, no matter how many
Cars that you race, no matter how many
Bibles that you own,
You’re a pig.

I won’t tell you what I’d do,
If I got my hands on you —
Even you would not believe it,
Even you would be unprepared.

You’d never die under my hands.
I’d never let you die.

Courtship, Family, Life, Love, Lovers, Marriage, Quality of Life, Relationships, Teresums

Why We Should Marry Someone We Like to Fight With

(About a 4 minute read)

Well, I tried.  I tried to come up with a post title that more accurately described my topic than the one you see, but alas!  The Great Muse of Titles was indifferent to me today, not even responding to my promises to generously sacrifice the annoying Teresums if she gave better than I got.

So to be more precise than my necessarily brief post title, have you ever wondered why so many articles and columns advising people on what to look for in a potential spouse fail to note the full importance of finding someone who fights you — when you do get into fights — in a way that you yourself can accept and respect?

Just yesterday, I overheard a conversation between two extraordinarily knowledgeable and impressively wise authorities on marriage in which both parties raised exactly that point and then went on to agree that actually liking — in the sense of “approving of” — your partner’s style of fighting you is a solid, but quite often overlooked, key to a successful marriage.

That’s to say, my cleaning lady, Evelyn, and I were talking about it with each other.  Moreover, I was listening — really listening — to both of us because  I fully possess the virtue of having great respect for people I deem to be authorities on any given subject, even if one of those people happens to be me.  Call me a “fool” about most things if you must, but I certainly do not tolerate harboring any ugly biases against myself.  Instead, I have standards.  High standards that I passionately and stubbornly enforce.

In my both admittedly limited experience and just as admittedly unlimited opinions, a whole lot of new couples simply cannot image they will ever get into a serious fight with each other — let alone a fair number of serious fights over the years.  Such idealism!

Actually,  my own mother believed that for quite some years.  Her mother and father were quite adamant about never fighting in front of their children.  Never.  They’d send her and her sister off to play, then retreat to their bedroom where, behind the closed door, they’d fight without raising their voices loud enough to be overheard.

Mom grew up thinking her parents never fought, but of course, she eventually figured out that all couples fight sooner or later — which I too believe to be true.  As does my cleaning lady.  There you have it — a three person consensus of experts in the field.  What more do you want?

I’ve had two wives, but never a wife I was truly compatible with when it came to fighting — and I think that tells you one of the reasons I am now twice divorced.

I was least compatible with my second wife.  Despite that I loved and cherished her, she was abusive, and so I involuntarily lost a bit of respect for her each time we fought, until there wasn’t enough respect left to glue us together.  When I left her, I didn’t emotionally suffer even for a day.

Make no mistake:  Respect was key.  Not love — I loved her long after I left her for, among other things, she was as brilliant as she was cruel.  But respect, more than love, is what solidifies a couple.

Or so the scientists tell us.  Following a series of somewhat controversial studies, John Gottman theorized that contempt — the opposite of respect — was the signal most significant factor leading to divorce in young couples.   Gottman is considered by some to be the leading scientist on the subject of why couples divorce, and he seems quite confident that a lack of respect is more telling than even a lack of love in determining whether a relatively young couple will make it together for more than a few years.

I think it’s a fair presumption that a man as well informed and wise on the subject as Gottman is bound to agree with Evelyn and me that folks should definitely not get married unless and until they know just how their potential spouse fights, and they approve of his or her style well enough to still respect them afterwards.

Comments?  Questions?  Unholy offers to email me tasteful, but subversive, nude selfies in order to poignantly remind me of what I’m missing by remaining voluntarily celibate?  Self-flattering screeds on how your natural body orders are a pleasing stench in the nostrils of the gods?