Still...

Stand very still
And watch her walk by
A bird’s perfect feather falling
On to a busy street
That flies back skyward
Amidst millions of foot falls
Stand very still
And watch her walk by
Like melted chocolate
Drizzled on hot cake
Not the decadent morsel
But that which makes you
Lick your lips
Stand very still
And watch her walk by
A sweet cabernet
Into the emptiness
Of the glass
Enhancing its smooth curve
Inviting you to drink
Yet you admire
And remain thirsty
Stand very still
And watch her walk by
The honey that
With the milk
Makes it that much sweeter
In the paradise we seek
Stand very still
And watch her walk by
A dream that once had
Awakens you
And in your longing to not forget
Compels you to
Stand very still…

Earth Day Rant

I’m smoking a cigar right now, a Bolivar to be exact. Cigars are wonderfully therapeutic but murder on the physiology. So as I poison myself with one of my favorite vices, the other being alcohol, I begin my Earth Day rant. Why do we insist on feigning ignorance in the face of the blatantly obvious? An earthquake here, a tsunami there, a catastrophic hurricane down yonder and God knows what else. We’ve gone from Global Warming to Global Dimming and while the scientists warn of an inevitable point of no return the politicians offer half hearted proposals and possible plans for change. I am a bit concerned you see because the majority of us are moving ahead with a casual, business as usual, state of mind. It’s almost like we have a fiftiesesque view of the future where soon humanity will be able to go to colonies in space to escape the planet we are killing. The unfortunate truth is that there is no Lunar Base Alpha or Space Station Bravo. When the planet is unlivable we’ll be faced with a vast Check Point Charlie through which there won’t be any escape to a better life or a brighter future. There are hybrid cars but we drive SUVs. Solar power is feasible but there’s talk about more nuclear power plants. We could use less but just use more knowing good and well that soon enough there will be none. Our house is burning down and we are trying not to notice while concurrently hoping someone, anyone, extinguishes the flames. I’m not standing on a soap box yelling in a vitriolic tone. I’m standing with everyone else acting like everything is ok because the worst part of my rant is that it amounts to hypocrisy. I spent this Earth Day driving my big American car with a tank half full of petrol I bought at over three bucks a gallon.

Untitled

I’m your regular, average, not very exciting,
College educated, cubicle dwelling nobody:
But not really.
In actuality, I’m a not so regular, above average,
Fairly exciting person with an over active imagination,
Full with imagery of, well, stuff…
And I continue to find a living in this corporate world,
That suits me,
But really doesn’t.
Maybe I suit it, with my big words and manipulation of them.
So I try to make more money in new and more
Fitting, but still corporate environs.
And I sit in the meetings with my pressed shirt, my
Matching tie and cuff links
And I think to myself that no one there,
No one will ever understand what goes on in my head.
And damn, I thought my phone was on vibrate,
But it wasn’t and now everyone is staring at me.
I scurry to turn it off and silence the strange song that is my ringer
And I look at the man sitting behind me.
He didn’t mind my phone and its wailing.
He just nods knowingly and says,
La Boheme.

A Misadventure revisited

I’m your regular, average, not very exciting,
College educated, cubicle dwelling nobody;
But not really.
In actuality, I’m a not so regular, above average,
Fairly exciting person with an over active imagination,
Full with imagery of, well, stuff…
And don’t tell anybody
But I sell houses too.
Now for clarity I tell you,
I’m a dark fella
Bloodline from the ole dark land
A Diasporan, I made that word up,
But you get me, I’m black.
So out where the other folks live
I was out trying to show a house,
In my new car
In my best clothes
In my prettiest smile, white teeth
And smooth skin, dark brown,
A bit reddish.
Standing by my shiny new motorized conveyance
Breathing that clean crisp air.
No one around.
I liked the houses,
Out where the other folks live.
So solitary, with no one around.
But all at once I had company
Friends I was expecting
Three cars worth,
All with initials ending with the letters PD.
And I smiled at the first officer,
Gave a firm handshake and
A business card and
With a smile I said,
“I knew you I would see you eventually.”

A Little Bird

While driving to work this morning I stopped at a red light. I was right at the crosswalk and I could see directly in front me a bit of litter that turned out to be a flattened cupcake wrapper. You know, the kind that you peel off the bottom so you can eat the less interesting part? Well this little bird hopped on and began to peck at the scraps and if I could guess I would think he was pretty content being the only little bird around and not having to share any cupcake. When the light turned green I began to roll toward him and he looked up at me. Birds don't have very readable faces but I believe he was daring me. The bird seemed indignant that I was going to come between him and his cupcake and he meant to hold his ground. The way his head was tilted up appeared as if he was looking down his beak at me in defiance. I continued to move and he continued to stare. However, at the critical moment he took flight. I guess some fights are best left unsought. Lil bird vs. two ton miracle of American ingenuity wouldn't have been much of a contest. I don't think lil bird would have had a chance.

A Paradigm Shift

I was watching a movie and one of the guys in the scene made reference to his age group being the coffee and cigarettes generation while those before were the coffee and pie generation. So I thought to myself, what generation do I belong to? Well, I imagine I am of the soy latte with splenda and keep-that-cigarette-away-from-me generation but I'm not thinking gastronomically right now. If there is a proper name for my contemporaries, us knocking on thirty but not yet there, then I think it must be the Rich Dad Poor Dad generation. Did you read that book? It’s the one where Poor Dad advised that his son go to school and get a secure job while Rich Dad taught that one shouldn't let fear of poverty and desire for obsessions trap them in a low paying unfulfilling job. When I take a look around today I notice that the majority of people I meet that decided to move away from that traditional paradigm of going to school and getting a secure job are generally better off. They have more money, they have more time and they seem much happier. Those of us who have the degrees (“the ole sheepskin” in the words of a gentleman I once met) seem to be in some sort of trap. We’re short on money and we have no time. As to happiness, we seem to be dreaming of the day when some manner of fulfillment will manifest. I believe that what we are witnessing is something of a paradigm shift where more people are deciding to strike out on their own and make their own mark on the economy without the perceived security of the degree to fall back on. They take the fear of poverty and turn it into a kind of fuel that drives them toward economic security while the others use that same fear as an excuse to remain content in their cubicle amidst endless piles of paperwork that have no meaning doing a job that has no bearing.

Another Misadventure of KCED

Listen to this fantastical bit of truth. Unbeknownist to but a handful of people I am a realtor. Part of my job is showing houses to people. So, a week or so ago, I was showing a house in one of your fairer complected areas of long island, new york. I had a brand new car, a clean shaven face and my spiffiest of clothes on. While waiting paitently for my buyer to materialize I was met by not one, not two, but three (three!) squad cars all representing that particular fair complected onclave. I greeted the officers with firm handshakes, business cards and my telling them, "I knew you would get here eventually."
The other part of my job is trying to convince people to sell their home through me. The day after my encounter with the long island coppers I was marketing in my own neighborhood. The quaint burg where I had spent my formative years and needless to say, in the words of Ray Nagin, a "Chocolate City." As I walked the calm streets I met eyes with two local urchin who took it upon themselves to attempt to rob me. Thankfully they were unsuccesful.
It was in this fashion that I passed two days as a realtor.

The Misadventures of KCED or You just can't make this stuff up...

When I was thirteen I spent my after school hours at a comic book store, the name of which eludes me at this time. It was a quaint place with lots of neat rows with the most recent comics displayed against the wall and up where the walls met flush with the ceiling there were collectors items on display with price tags out of reach of the meager amount of coin I had on my person. The proprietor of the establishment was an Irish expatriate named Andre who at the time had the reddest hair I'd ever seen and the thickest brogue I'd ever heard. He was a humble man, a pleasant man and to hear him tell it the positively poorest purveyor of pulp periodicals. This man cried poverty so much that I was ashamed of my inability to buy more from him. He understood though. After all, I was just a kid. Months went by and I visited that store and Andre and I talked comics and of course he would sing his sad song of having one foot in his shop and the other in a debtor's prison. This went on until one day after school I went to the shop and found it closed. I shrugged it off thinking that he had just taken a vacation and I walked home. A couple of days later my mother showed me an article in the paper that she thought I would find interesting. The headline was something silly like "Brinks bandits busted" and when I read that article I was stunned to find out that my friend Andre was actually an IRA member by the name of Samuel Ignatius Millar who had, with the help of two of his countrymen, robbed a Brinks armored car for a few million dollars. Needless to say I lost my favorite comic book store and I never again spoke to the poor Irish fellow named Andre who in reality wasn't named Andre and wasn't even poor...