Happy

I want you to know that I am happy.Not particularly at this moment, but generally speaking I’m a happy man. I am satisfied with where my life has taken me, what I’ve seen, and what fate has allowed me to experience.It doesn’t often come out in my writing, because I express my happiness in other ways. They seem to all be private. For better or worse, my happiness is usually exhibited in things I observe. I read happy books, I listen to happy songs, I think a LOT of happy thoughts, and occasionally throw my head back and laugh out of sheer glee. I tell jokes, and tease my co-workers mercilessly. They tease me back, and some days, we even get a lot of work done. I can't explain it, but for some reason the things I create don’t usually tap that part of who I am. I sing sad songs, I write dark prose about ugly places. But for some reason I want you to know that these things are just a "part" of me. There are plenty of happy blogs, I read lots of them and enjoy them. I want you to know that I am happy.I hope you are happy too. :-)--Stew.

(29 August 2006)

Katrina

I am fortunate enough to have friends that I can argue with. That’s important because without friends you can argue with, you end up testing out your most fundamental confusions on people who DON’T like you. Which means they never point out the flaws in your argument. They “just” try to use them against you.Which brings me to Katrina. Between covering the sad but so completely overwrought saga of JonBenet Ramsey, “the media” has managed to remember that America’s largest single natural disaster happened one year ago this week.And it’s “this week” because it wasn’t a tragedy that struck on a Tuesday morning, and stays seared in your brain like 9/11. Katrina was the disaster that went on too long, like a first novel by a second-rate writer. Long after the story should have been reaching its conclusion, more chapters were being added and the plot wasn’t getting thicker, it was getting murkier and sadder. So, I’ve found myself discussing and debating hurricane Katrina and its aftermath with my friend. She’s white, and doesn’t understand why I see the storm and its aftermath in terms of “race,” a moniker I detest when discussing politics, primarily because it doesn’t mean anything. I’ll come back to that later.The dichotomy of our opinions is pretty simple. We agree that the government demonstrated incompetence in its response to the needs of the people at the local, state, and federal level. Where we part company is the question of why.To me, it’s painfully obvious that it was a combination of apathy and arrogance that led to the Constitutionally-elected executive branch of the federal government not noticing, or collecting the data that would have allowed them to fulfill their Constitutional obligation … specifically the insuring of domestic tranquility, part of the “reason” given for forming a nation in the first place. I believe that apathy has been their standard response to the specific plight of poor people. I believe this has particularly been true of those they could subcategorize as minority, and that this springs from an unexposed view that minorities actually have MORE opportunity thanks to post civil rights legislation. Therefore, those who haven’t managed to succeed have no one to blame but themselves, and as a result should be all but ignored by those who have. They are obviously inferior in some way, or just too lazy to take what has been offered.I believe the arrogance is a by-product of an irresponsible life of privilege. I have no firsthand knowledge about being wealthy, and I suspect that I am guilty of the same apathy toward the problems of the rich that I accuse them of exhibiting toward the poor. The relevant difference is that I am not tasked with their protection, nor do I seek to gain from their loss. The responsibly rich understand that their wealth comes with strings. One of those strings is an obligation to use a portion of their time, money, and power in pursuits to help the less fortunate. The government recognizes this and codified it as a desirable trait by making charity tax deductible. In fact, it is actually DIFFICULT in America to be wealthy WITHOUT declaring part of your assets toward a “charitable” cause. If you try, the government will literally TAKE most of your money away. Without that government insistence on philanthropy of some kind, I suppose the stick in this equation is that if you don’t, and the transgression is great enough, history tells us that the poor will eventually tear down your gates, take your shit, and probably behead you.I’ve always admired the responsibly rich and poor equally. Every group of poor people counts among its numbers many who work hard, play by the rules, and raise responsible families that pride themselves on taking as little from the public dole as possible. These are the people who show up at their jobs on time every day in exchange for a wage they cannot be expected to survive on, and serve as the fuel for the national economy. But there are despicable extremes among both rich AND poor. In action, the despicable, regardless of class, are users. They seek the next handout with religious fervor, and waste tremendous amounts of brainpower developing new ways to game loopholes of the system. They use their despicableness as capital for crime, laziness, and selfishness. Faced with poverty, they become stick-up kids. Faced with extreme wealth, they become board members of Enron … or vacation as a city drowns. They have no concern for how their behavior affects others. They are the picture of arrogance … and apathy. For me, Katrina ripped the façade off the face of despicable America. The poor became looters, the rich kicked off another game of “it’s not my fault” … version two of The Blame Game. And America watched as thousands of people were victimized by criminals in their midst as they waited for other criminals to come to their aid. Millions were displaced, thousands suffered, and hundreds died.And the world watched as more Americans with dark skin than have ever made an appearance on daytime television begged the cameras for food, water, medicine, and help.My friend doesn’t see the race issue. I can’t blame her, but I understand why. I believe it is a question of heritage.Heritage is the substance that is passed down from generation to generation around the dinner table. It’s the knowledge you have that isn’t written anywhere, but know as surely as your multiplication tables. It’s the beliefs you have in common with your grandparents, even though you vote for different political parties. It’s the feeling you get when you see symbols that you realize are a façade.I look at television footage for a living. I’ve learned to believe that a picture is worth a thousand words, a moving picture is worth a million, and a moving picture with sound … is priceless.To my friend, I share this simple explanation of why I see “heritage” when I look at footage of Katrina:The way the event played out, hit a very raw, sensitive, and exposed nerve in the “black” psyche that we’re still not “part of the country.”As a group with shared heritage, we don’t have the language to describe what we feel. We just perceive it the same way. I cannot speak to the “fact” of it. I can only speak to its “truth.” All these “black” people are not saying the same things simply to piss “white” America off. We say it because we believe it. We say it because we feel it. We say it because we know it. On some level, it doesn’t even matter any more whether it’s “true” or not. Katrina will become a chapter in the unwritten book of our heritage like the Tuskegee Experiments, like the Tulsa burning of 1921, and like the need to be “twice as good to get half as far.”To the poor and displaced people of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida … I wish you the blessing of Job. After learning he’d lost everything in a matter of minutes, his story is about trial and tribulation. But it ends with him gaining a double portion of his material possessions. (His children are also replaced, which is kind of weird, but that’s another topic for another day.)Peace,--Stew. (P.S. Knucklehead, I hope you're ok. If you see this, let me know that you are.)

(29 August 06)

Sin, C-Span, and ex-Presidents

I am a C-Span junkie, which is to say that I’m more inclined to watch an entire hearing of the Senate Armed Services Committee than catch the soundbites on the evening news.I believe in sin—which I acknowledge is a bit odd since I am still “on the fence” about the existence of God. I think the concept of sin is a necessary device for society because it allows us to all share the sentiment of disgust about certain acts. I define sin as “the act of doing something fucked-up on purpose.”My father would vehemently disagree with my definition, I suspect—on two grounds. #1, he would NEVER use the term “fucked-up” to describe it. We wouldn’t argue that point in person, because I use as little profanity as possible in his presence out of respect for him and the way he has chosen to live his life. #2, his definition of sin is “the transgression of God’s law,” which is the 10 Commandments.I struggle with his definition because I think the 10 specific rules leave out a LOT of stuff that he would then call sin—like homosexuality. (Stay with me, this is headed somewhere.)Growing up Christian (Seventh-day Adventist to be precise) I was taught that all sin is equal in the eyes of God. I certainly don’t believe that, but if it IS true, it creates conundrums of all sorts. [Is a gay couple who concedes that happiness they get from their lifestyle, which is fucked-up in the eyes of others, is worth paying whatever consequences it demands really riding as fast a sin wagon as a mass murderer?] Which brings me to the unresolved conflict that’s happening in my head today.Ex-President William Jefferson Clinton turns 60 today. Happy birthday. One of C-Span’s Washington Journal questions today dealt with how we as citizens should view his presidency. It generated the Republican vs. Democrat responses that you should expect as a viewer of a call in political discussion show in the current political age.For those of you who’ve tuned out news altogether because it’s a constant cycle of Jon- Benet Ramsey, OJ Simpson, and donkeys and elephants arguing over the mundane … here’s the short version.Republican: Bill Clinton is a despicable man who disgraced the Oval Office and the Presidency. The economy did well under his leadership because of the Republican Congress, and the policies established under his predecessor. Al Quaida declared war against America on his watch and he did nothing about it. He is a stain on American history. George W. Bush is God’s man of the moment. He isn’t terribly articulate, but without his leadership we would face daily terrorist attacks. He’s an old-school cowboy who understands that you have to meet force with force, which isn’t always pretty. But if you really love this country, you understand that he’s protecting America and will support him.Democrat: George W. Bush is a moron who didn’t know anything about the world at large before he became President of its most powerful nation. He was right to go into Afghanistan to clear out the Taliban, since they wouldn’t turn over Bin Ladin; but Iraq has nothing to do with terrorism. He lied about the weapons of mass destruction intentionally. He’s a war monger who’s lining the pockets of his friends by creating war without end, and his actions have led more than 25,000 American young people to the loss of life or limb. Bill Clinton was an articulate representative of common political sense. He worked hard for the little people, built the strongest economy ever, balanced the budget, and stared down Newt Gingrinch and the Contract with America lunacy. He had an unfortunate dalliance inappropriately with an intern in the Oval Office, but his sexual proclivity shouldn’t necessarily taint his Presidential legacy. He was wrongly impeached by a Congress that hated him. He couldn’t do much about terrorism because every time he tried to make a military move, he was accused of “wagging the dog” and trying to distract America from his promiscuous behavior.Hmmmm…..The discussion got me to thinking. Which usually gets me to writing. Which brings us here.I’m a moderate Independent. Politically, that’s exactly the same as being an agnostic. We live in a tiny little room, where we play referee … since we can’t get into the game.Politically analyzing the situation is pretty easy for someone with my views. Both men are sinners, but the consequences of their individually fucked-up acts, done on purpose in both cases, aren’t having very similar impacts on world society.What Bill Clinton did, by encouraging and accepting a series of blowjobs and other sexual acts IN HIS OFFICE, was reprehensible on a dozen levels. It DID disgrace the Oval Office. There should be some places that are sacred because of their function. Imagine your Pastor spending a Tuesday night getting a blowjob on the pulpit. Isn’t that just … wrong? I mean, whether he gets caught or not isn’t really the issue. Isn’t it a desecration of the function of a pulpit? Doesn’t the fact that he will stand there on the weekend, and hopefully decry sin in all its various and sundry forms mean that he SHOULDN’T be using it as the venue for the satisfaction of his manly desires? Of course it does. This is what motels are for. The pulpit should be a place of innocence. I would argue he’d be just as wrong to plan a bank robbery, or beat his wife on the pulpit. ALL of those would be despicable acts, made even … WRONGER … by his choice of location to carry them out. There is no excusing it, there are no acceptable explanations, and frankly, I don’t think he should be allowed the opportunity to rationalize his behavior. It should be a punishable crime, and he should be shunned by decent folk for his sin. The Oval Office is the place from which my country speaks most forcefully. It’s where the decisions about which of our bills will be laws of the land without a Congressional fight are made. It’s where we receive the leaders of other nations on decidedly unequal ground. It’s where the conversations about whom we’ll fight, and who we’ll choose more diplomatic means happens. It’s where policy thought happens. It is NOT a boudoir, it’s not a strip club, it’s not a “by the hour” motel. It’s not the appropriate place to take your Mistress, with or without your wife’s consent. It’s MY office. It’s YOUR office. It’s OUR office. It’s one of America’s pulpits. Under NO circumstances, without my approval, is it the appropriate site for some guy’s Cytherean trysts with the hired help. That’s just nasty. It’s wrong. It’s … well, it’s fucked up.On a different level, it’s stupid. Forget Hillary, forget the marriage, forget Chelsea, forget that this guy was a “family man.” I’m not proud to say so, but lots of men cheat on their families. That’s also wrong, but irrelevant for the discussion of this particular man. How his family deals with his actions is a discussion for a separate forum. My topic today is Clinton as President. So here’s a question for the topic: “Shouldn’t he have known … as he was getting his Johnson smoked by the semi-nude girl just a couple of years older than his daughter in MY Oval Office … that there was a chance he’d get caught? I’ve had sex in a few “public” places … and it was always on MY mind in the moment. As President, wouldn’t he have been … AWARE of the potential consequences? Didn’t he KNOW … AS THE BLOWJOB was happening … that if Congress ever got hold of the video, that it would make it MUCH harder for him to get his agenda through? Of course he did. He’s a politician. It’s part of the job description to be constantly aware of how ALL of your deeds, seen and unseen, could affect your political viability. There is NO WAY … even in mid Max Headroom, to not be “aware” that hey … “this could go badly for me.”Of course he knew. Of course he was aware. But he told her to suck on, anyway. This my friends … is sin. A fucked-up act; in this case … getting head under MY desk … done on purpose.Now, how do we position this sin in the appropriate context of the man’s accomplishments? Here … is where it gets tricky.Aside from his sin, there is general agreement that Bill Clinton was not a BAD President. (That’s how we have to couch it to get the general agreement, lol). We can’t debate whether or not he was a “good” President. That’s not how it’s done. The question is … “Was Bill Clinton a bad President?” Most Republicans will even concede that the answer is no. They will insist on an asterisk for the blowjobs, which they are WELL within their rights to do. They will then add that he lied about it … which wasn’t a sin in my view, because … well, how the devil would you EXPECT him to behave? Of COURSE he lied about it. Duh. Having already committed the sin, I would’ve lied about it too. Once the nut is spent, and my obvious stupidity hits me in the instant after, I’d have thought up the best story I could, and rode it till the wheels fell off. Which he did. The lying to the Grand Jury wasn’t a sin … that was a crime; which is completely different. Impeachment was the appropriate penalty for it, and he paid that penalty. This combination of sins and crimes makes it hard to put him in the Great President fraternity. But it doesn’t erase his other accomplishments, either. Which brings us to Mr. Bush II. Not to be confused with his father, who is alleged to have cheated on Barbara … but not in the Oval Office. His sin is a bit murkier to me. He told lies to get what he wanted—war. It’s fucked up because to date, thousands of people have died as a result. To me, the discussion about his intelligence borders on the irrelevant. Once you make a decision, your intellect is no longer at issue. There is only the consequence of your actions. Many a moron has made a decision that resulted in brilliant outcomes. But that original lie … was fucked up. I suspect that in years to come, there will be dozens of books and articles about the pervasiveness of this particular deception. Time will eventually tell us a LOT more about what has happened in the Oval Office since the infamous blowjob. Already, I believe that it’s been used to hatch a series of lies that have resulted in people I know losing their lives.Without belaboring that point, it leads to my conclusion … and question. Are all sins equal? You tell me.

(originally posted 19 Aug 06)

State of MY politics

I am a Nebraskan. A Husker, wandering lost on the Eastern Coast.From a cultural standpoint, this means I appreciate a well-seasoned Runza, and know what steak is actually supposed to taste like.I also appreciate how it is to be cooked, and what you put on it when it’s “done.”If these observations leave a question mark in your mind, it’s because you aren’t as well cultured as we Huskers, lol.It also means that for me, High School civics was a series of lessons about the Unicameral.Wikipedia might tell you a bit more about us, but I haven’t checked it lately, and don’t know if any of my fellow red-blooders have taken the time off from harvest, or planting, or milking to bother to inform you about how an effective government works.You might have heard about the Unicam in the news this year, if you’re a news junkie like me.I still have friends at the television station where I wrote newscasts in the valley of uncertainty after I ended my military stint. And I still watch my hometown news.I have a favorite Senator. His name is Ernie Chambers, and he represents North Omaha. His picture is the one at the top of this blog. He made national headlines by proposing that the only public school district I ever attended be broken up into a triumvirate of separate administrations representing Black, White, and Hispanic school districts.Insane is what they called him.Not so much, but that’s because the rest of the world doesn’t understand the good Senator.He’s not. He’s just a throwback.I haven’t seen Mr. Chambers for almost 20 years, but when my co-worker knocked on my office door to tell me that there was a black Nebraska state Senator on CNN I remembered him well enough to ask if he was wearing a gray sweatshirt, and jeans.He’s a genius who used to cut hair on 24th Street.He raises the kinda unrest and hell in the Senate back home that I’d like to cause in life.He’s “one of us.” He’s ALWAYS been, but sadly you’ll probably never hear of him. When I was growing up, Nebraska was a state that had fewer than a million people, about 13 percent of whom were black.I don’t know the exact number, but I’ll bet Senator Chambers represented just about all of us.Nebraskans decided we don’t need two separate houses of legislation. Unless you’re one of us, YOUR state has a House of Representatives, and a Senate. You ALSO probably pick your committee chairmen by majority party. My Congress can kick YOUR congresses ass.You don’t need both.In Nebraska, you are elected from a neighborhood. To run, you just get your name put on the ballot. You're neither a Republican nor Democrat--you are a name. People either know you, and are willing to vote for you, or not. You don't go to the Unicameral to represent the interests of some generic political party, you go there to represent the people who sent you there. You become chair of a committee because the people on that committee believe you can get the job done. You stay for 4 years, divided into 4 legislative sessions that last 90 days in odd numbered years, and 60 days in even. You make $12,000 each year for performing the service, then you go home. We also split our electoral college votes. Hasn't happened in recent history, because the State has gone solidly one way or the other, but when its significantly split ... the winner get a majority, not a totality.The NATION needs two houses of legislation. The NATION has 300 million people, plus an estimated 30-million illegal “immigrants.Your state … not so much.My state … is smarter than your state because they figured this out early in the game.Two houses means you have to pay a lot more people out of your paycheck. And unless they’re putting money back INTO your check, you’ve got too many people on the payroll.Next time you’re on the internet and none of your friends is around to chat with, look us up.You’ll be surprised that we’re more than just the best football in the nation.

(Originally posted 12 Aug 06)

The Conclusion

“Okay black man, so let’s get the basic facts straight and ask the obvious question.”

He is an acquaintance of my muse, and he isn’t smiling.

I don’t know if he’s black, white, or from the other side.

“One week, a decade ago, you had a bad experience. You’ve decided to purge it from your spirit, but who honestly gives a shit about it? Everybody has a bad day. Rub some dirt on it, and walk it off. Most importantly, SHUT UP about it. It’s unimportant.”

The fact that the conversation was happening entirely inside my mind coupled with the realization that I was alone in the room kept pounding the inside of my consciousness like a timpani.

He was right in a sense. It’s a point I can’t argue.

But I have to finish, because I know that there has ALWAYS turned out to be a method to my madness.

There’s a reason my spirit has kept this story bottled up for these 3500+ days and nights.

There’s a reason my fingers fairly fly whenever I start to recall the details.

There’s a reason my thoughts zoom ... from electrical impulses inside my head, to whispered phrases nobody hears but me, to memorized finger-cadences marching across the keyboard, to saved bytes and bits I had to buy a new hard drive to store, to words on a page, to a light bulb switching “on” in YOUR mind.

It’s a journey of mere seconds.

Something eerie this way goes.

I’ve chosen to verbally fight him—this elegant, logical, and articulate stranger trespassing in the dark recesses of my mind.

I can’t quite see him in the shadows he favors, but I’ve conjured up a picture of him.

He wears a black hat. I’ve decided I’ll verbally battle him word for word, because as I grow older the wisdoms of my elders increase in value.

George Santayana, my elder by every measure, left me a priceless jewel. He said:

"Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it."

It stands to reason that those who never HEAR history have a fair and honest excuse for their inevitable, yet unnecessary repetition.

But if the people who KNOW the history don’t tell the people who may not---whose fault is the inexhaustible groundhog day?

As of this month, there are roughly 150,000 American servicemen and women in Iraq. There are another 20-thousand or so in Afghanistan.

While we debate and discuss how they got there, whether they should be there, and how soon they should/will/could come home—there’s a MUCH more important question that nobody’s asking at the town hall meeting.

WHO WILL THEY BE WHEN THEY GET BACK?

We’re not talking about your brother, or father, or cousin, or uncle, or friend, of course … we’re discussing the “other guy.”

Because it is a fact of history that none of the people we know or love has ever come back from war, let’s say … Vietnam, with any mental health issues.

For that matter, the experience has never so much as changed them one iota from being the happy-go-lucky, balanced, friendly guy who was King of the Prom.

RIGHT?

What sort of impact does exposure to death, chaos, and mayhem have on the psyche?

Anybody know??

A 34-year old hand slowly reaches for the sky from the back of the room.

“I know.”

The words are quiet.

Just a few of them, all but hidden on a weblog that nobody will ever read, hosted quietly on a website where anonymity is achieved by melting into the crowd of millions of bored Americans wandering in search of the sex, chat, and fun that are the bold-print items on the agenda.

But they are sincere.

“I have a history with that. And I don’t want anybody to have to repeat it.”

In the shadows of my mind, I can see the black-hatted doubter leaning forward.

He still wants me to “walk off” the pain. But he’s intrigued by the comment.

His aura begs me to consider the possibility that he’s a good guy after all.

Just, misunderstood.

I don’t know, and I'm afraid to find out.

But he’s assumed the position of “the thinker” and he’s listening.

Progress is.

I talked to a friend of mine days before I started writing chapter one of this story. He and I are military buddies. We have been friends for a long time, and in the old days he wanted to go to war.Now, he’s been.And he cries himself to sleep almost every night.

I can relate to that, except that the tears didn’t come when my particular slideshow started every 24th hour on the hour.

He unloaded on me.

Talked about the things he’d seen, the things he’d done, and the things he’d thought about doing.

He told me in confidence, and has given me permission to reference the conversation here … but made me promise to never use his name.

He’s talked about the killing, and the dying.

He’s talked about the maiming, and the blood.

He’s talked about the violence, and the sound.

The smell.

And the heat.

He reached the end, and stopped talking.

Now ... we talk about football, and girls, and funny cartoons.

All the stuff NORMAL teenagers discuss.

He says he is different, now.

When I stare into his eyes I believe him, and I know what he’s talking about.

I wasn't strong enough to find the voice I would need to scream in to give his story the kind of volume it would need to raise the roof off the muthafucka!

So I chose to tell you my story instead of his, because mine isn't as grotesque.

It's not as vivid, there is no good guy or bad guy in my story. There is only an accident, and victims.

Plus, I was finally ready.I am familiar with them both, and believe me when I tell you--My experience was absolutely NOTHING compared to his.

But I’ve walked a few steps down that road.I also believe that he’s strong, probably much stronger than I.

In ten years, you may find yourself reading HIS blog, and seeing this war through his eyes. He is a master with words, and I sometimes read what he writes when I search for inspiration.But he hasn’t written about this, yet.

I write on his behalf because neither you nor I have the luxury of waiting that decade. Because he is legion.

There are almost a MILLION people who have spent a month, or a quarter, or a year, or 18 months, or done repeat tours in the belly of these beasts of conflict.

And they have seen the hell that defines war, and becomes the fiction of tomorrow.

Most of them are stable, and will come back to what we always called “the world” to resume normal lives.

But there are a MILLION of them.

And some of them will suffer nightmares. Others will beat their wives, or children. A few will adjourn to the local bar, where they will spend every drunken night looking for a fight to give their newfound aggression a home. And a small percentage …

of the MILLION …

Will become a threat to you, the people you love, and the community you live in. They are not at fault. They have experienced a trauma so deep that it awakens their darker selves. They have been called upon to “defend freedom.” And defense of anything requires violence, killing and dying, watching, and the summoning of spirits we like to leave sleeping.

Those spirits are organic. They are not robots. You don't just "pull the plug" to power them down. They don’t simply return to rest.

They stalk the dark recesses of the mind, they pound the inside of the consciousness like a timpani. They appear wearing black hats, and lean in to better hear the discussion.

They speak.

They argue.

And sometimes, they win.

They turn men into rapists and thieves, havoc wreakers and murderers.

In one of the earlier chapters, I talked about the wallet … and the photo I can still see as clearly as if I were holding it in my hands. I didn’t know the woman, but yet … she haunts me.

How much greater would that haunting be if I’d killed her. Or watched her die?Watched her kill my friend? Watched HIM die?How much darker would my nightmares be if I’d CAUSED that tragedy, even unwillingly?Post-traumatic stress disorder is real.

I stAND UP in testimony to its existence and its very real power.We have exposed hundreds of thousands to hell, and pushed many of that number into trauma in the name of spreading democracy.Who will protect those victims when the gunfire stops?

Who will protect YOU when it starts again, much closer to home?

Who will quiet the nightmares? Debate the spirits, and clean up the mess??

Shiites and Sunnis were glaring at each other across the room when my grandfather's grandfather was tilling the fields.

They will still hate each other when my grandchildren’s grandchildren are given their first computer. I don’t care about that. It isn’t my problem. Theoretically, I could make it my problem, but I have to pick and choose my battles. I choose my brothers and sisters in arms … who have their OWN August 6th, 1997 experience to cope with. Thank you for listening.

He is quiet … my black-hatted stranger. I am not sure if he is thinking, or plotting.But I can still feel him, hugging the walls of my mind, as he contemplates his next move. He is probably me. I wonder what HE remembers.

(Originally Posted 11 August 2006)