Acorn. Gravity. Tree.

Comes a time

That sets you free.

It’s not just the words:

It’s the punctuation.

Hear the melody,

Find the syncopation.

Acorn. Gravity. Tree.

Process is Destination.

That backbeat

Should you lose it:

Close your eyes

And breathe the music.

Too close to the stage

To see the show;

Too close to the river

To go with the flow:

The more you live

The less you know.

Bum Steers

Sen. Martha McSally won’t commit to backing additional financial support for state and local governments  during the COVID-19 pandemic, saying taxpayers should not bail them out for years of mismanagement.

During a recent virtual town hall hosted by the mayor of Surprise, McSally, R-Ariz., reiterated her call for increased flexibility in how funds can be used, but made clear she sees big, blue-state cities as trying to fleece red states.

“I’m just going to be frank with you guys, OK,” she said in an hourlong videotaped event. “This is not the time for states and cities — unlike Arizona, unlike Surprise — who have mismanaged their budgets over the course of many decades, for them to use this as an opportunity to see you, as a taxpayer in Arizona, as a cash cow for them in whatever city you want to talk about, whether it’s Chicago or New York or whatever."

Here's a link:  Cash Cow Disease

There are people who naturally have empathy for the misfortunes of others, accepting and understanding that many folks who need help have no choice, while others game the system.

The opposite side of that coin are people who insist there is a much higher percentage of "system gamers."

Those are the types of people depicted in Bruce Hornsby's classic, "The Way It Is." Those are the people who sneer, just for fun, at those in the welfare line, and say, "Get a job."

In my experience most people not only want to work, they also need to work. Most people are ashamed that they are needy.

Those who mock the unfortunate are despicable in my view, and yet rather than use generic labels, as in GOP Senator, I prefer politician because it is not a coincidence that the wealthiest among us are also, quite often, the most cynical. There are plenty of wealthy Democrats, so it is not the curse of having money that causes the disconnect from those who have to those who don't. 

What is appalling is that with the current administration and its various enablers, either in elected office, in the media, or simply a lobby lizard hoping to score, the amount of blame and scorn they have for those who need food stamps, for instance, or a decent lunch in a public school.

These are Americans conveniently forgetting that luck is an enormous factor in the path that is taken by other Americans — yet the scorn and anger suggests that the poor are really from another country and are "not actual Americans." 

The best example of luck at birth belongs to our "president," who insists he's a self-made billionaire, which is two lies at once. Had the con man not been given a fortune, he'd be selling used shoes in a failing mall that time had forgotten. 

It's not inherently a right wing vs left wing issue, but few Democrats have publicly demanded that benefits for the poor be reduced.

Is it a form of greed? 

To not only be well off, but to actively seek a form of retribution for those who aren't? 

Or is this public shaming of the misfortunate merely pandering to "the base" ... and  for this current administration, the word base can be used on every level.  Heartless, cruel, vindictive and seemingly immune to any reality that does not amplify or enhance their bias.

The current administration's answer for most problems is yet another tax cut for the wealthiest among us, which the 1 percent does not need, and at the same time inflict even more hardship on the much less fortunate. It's a vicious combination of avarice and spite ... that the poor must be punished because they chose that route in life.

The White House wants to end Obamacare and get its hands on the Social Security funds, spewing that healthcare must be a private entity and that Social Security is an entitlement — in essence, abolish "free" medical care and stop handing out cash to the poor. This is jam for the Trump base. If it is not Obama's fault, then it must be those existing on the margins.

These days there is quite a bit of hand-wringing about the choice of candidates in the coming presidential election. I don't see a choice at all.  

It's as easy as Life vs Death. 

Before The Virus

Before the virus

We meandered along,

Sometimes with the clarity

Of bees or ants.

Task to task.
One that must be done?

All that you might ask.

One form of happiness

Is having just

Ever so slightly

Too much to do.

Almost not enough time

Condenses the process;

Sharpens the focus,

Provides a tangible goal.

You need to get there.

That sense of urgency

Colors the shadows;

Gives reason its right to be

As well as its certainty.

Finally, with massive

Effort the task is completed.

It’s Miller Time.

And on and on and on

It went before the virus.

Strangers on the train

Sharing glances;

Strangers at home

With their habit dances.

Strangers seeking light,

Seeking affirmation

They exist.

You must persist.

So many planes.

The physical, which is 

Not just for the young bucks.

Can’t get no at any age 

Pretty much sucks.

The ethereal with ideals

Prancing in the twilight:

That time of evening

Where Rod Serling and Walter Cronkite

Might have shared a Bud.

This one’s for you both.

In the city or

In the country

Small town Saturday nights

Are the same.

“Hey, what you hoodlums, doing?”

“Nothing much, Junior, just trying to have some fun.”

And we did

Before the virus.

We took youth and that

Level of freedom for granted,

As we did that the smart people

Would stay in charge.

That the honest people

Would get elected to serve,

That where we call home

Is paradise.

And it is.

Well, was it really?

Or was it 

Just our shared illusion?

That we were the good guys.

We were. In 1941.

Can’t say that now.

Corporations are people

So says the high court.

Just what are those dudes sniffing?

Money squawks as it walks.

It WILL tell you a story.

How many rich men are honest?

How many honest men are rich?

These days in 2020

There are Americans

Wearing and waving

Nazi flags.

There are people

Drinking poison

Because … well …

Honestly,

Because they are fucking stupid.

And, of course,

There is the White House problem.

We knew it would be this way.

We said, “Watch out,

When there is actual crisis.”

We said it a 1,000 times

Before the virus.

Hello Darkness

(with sincere apologies, but no regrets to Paul Simon.)

Hello, darkness, you old fiend.

Have you come to win again?

In restless dreams I walked alone

Narrow streets of cobblestone

'Neath the halo of a streetlamp

I turned my collar to the cold and damp

When my eyes were stabbed

By the flash of neon bright

That split the night:

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people, maybe more:

People talking without speaking;

People hearing without listening.

And those people bowed and prayed

To the orange god they made

And the sign flashed out its warning

In the words that it was forming

And the sign said, "The words of the prophets

Are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls.”

Because this spectre

Left its seeds while i was sleeping

I thought I heard truth speak

But it was barely peeping.

Then I heard the screams

That were planted in my brain

And they remain

Within those sounds of violence

"Fools," said I, "You do not know

Violence like a cancer grows

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you."

But my words like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the sounds of violence.

Hello darkness, you old fiend.

You’re so close to winning again.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time

Before the smart phone,

GPS and the internet,

There were printed road maps

That, amazingly,

If we followed the signs,

Would lead us from

A home in North Carolina,

To a destination, for instance,

In Arizona or Florida.

Or anywhere really.

City maps.

County maps.

State maps.

Region maps.

Even maps of entire countries.

The maps were the kind

That had to be folded up,

And that was the hard part:

Actually getting the map

Back into its pre-purchased shape.

Once upon a time

We made telephone calls

With a rotary dial, and

Kept an address book

With the numbers

We needed to call.

At one time

There was just one phone

In a home, often in a central location.

Progress brought extensions,

And folks had it easy

When getting a call in the dread of night

With a phone right next to the bed.

If one was lucky

The TV had 4 channels 

That one could actually see and hear.

Then cable came along,

And that changed what we thought

Was everything.

More, however, did not mean interesting,

A theme Springsteen addressed

With "57 Channels (And Nothing On)."

Little did we know then

That this was the tip

Of the glut iceberg.

Nowadays, those

Who still have cable can whine,

“1200 channels and nothing on.”

Once upon a time,

Music was played with

Use of a vinyl disc

On a record player

For much of the 20^th century.

Some fancy folks

Had 8-track in their cars in the 70s.

Then came cassettes.

Followed by CDs.

As digital advanced

Car makers included auxiliary ports

To hook up mp3 players. 

There were even designated iPod ports.

And until recently

Most cars had CD players.

But those days are over.
CDs in cars have been discontinued,

Because most people now

Use their phone to connect

To a music streaming source.

When the internet arrived,

It was rightfully deemed a remarkable invention.

One could communicate

With anyone else in the world instantly.

The earliest days of "online"

Were sublime.

But as humans were involved,

It did not take long

For the other side of the sublime coin

To make its presence known.

And soon, the Smart Phone marched

Into our collective reality, providing, in essence,

A computer one could fit in a pocket or purse

With which one could go online anywhere,

And even speak with someone else.

But texting gradually replaced talking

Partly, perhaps, because it can be

Such a passive-aggressive mode

Of contacting and informing.

It became clear that the tool that offered connection

In real time was actually being used

To defer engagement;

And because words on a phone screen have no tone,

Meaning, or even worse, intended meaning

Was often lost or misunderstood.

“I didn’t get the text,” replaced

“I didn’t get the call.”

Recently while on a tour bus at Gettysburg,

I noticed there were as many tourists

Staring at their phones

As there were actually 

looking at the battlefields.

That’s fucked up.

The Smart Phone can be a vital resource

But if it breaks, or it can’t be charged

Its owner is often left in a dark ages vacuum

Without threat of an answer or a result.

At times, the Smart Phone can be

Allah, 

Jesus 

or Lao Tsu.

A Smart Phone is often

A newspaper,

A juke box, 

A photo album, 

A source of endless self-congratulatory nonsense

In which one becomes the star of his/her own universe.

You can Tweet, you can Messenger, you can Snap and you can Instagram.

You can feel as if you are connecting.

But that’s the virtual rub.

Most of the time

You are simply gazing into a digital mirror

In the vain hope that you get "liked" and retweeted.

And because anyone can post and claim to be factual,

A smart phone makes it easier to scam and con 

Enormous numbers of people in an instant.

Does this remind you have anyone, say,

Who is orange hued and opposed to facts?

Does not have to be this way.

We lost John Prine

But his wisdom remains.

Decades ago, he advised:

“Blow up your TV, throw away your papers

Go to the country, build you a home

Plant a little garden, eat a lot of peaches

Try and find Jesus on your own.”

All of this still works

With one caveat;

Blow up your smart phone, too.

Or at least learn

How to be efficient and effective

Without it.

Instead of texting,

Actually speak with someone.

Digital is as quick as it is cold.

And these days,

Who needs more cold?

Hunker

Are you a facts and science person?

If you are, you might have a rapidly growing strong sense that in a couple of months we will wistfully look back at March and April as that calm time before the real shit went down.

Hyperbole? Fear? 

Sure.

So, what's the point of sharing?

This country is now in a situation where fake leadership has no purpose. When a Jared Kushner replaces a Dr. Fauci on the front lines of pandemic strategy, or a Navy captain is fired for trying to save the lives of his crew of his infected aircraft carrier.... well ... it's mighty difficult to think we're at the far end of this tunnel.

One can go pretty crazy from this by paying, perhaps, too much attention to the incompetents continuing to display their incompetence.

So, in my case ... take a breath or two. Focus on what i can do and that's wash my hands. Again. 

As Bette Davis would say, "Fasten your seatbelts. It's going to be a bumpy spring."

Toggle to Goggle

At the intersection

Of sleep

And imagination …

Time to jump

On Fritter

Or Facecrook

To see what’s what.

Then toggle

To Goggle.

Might make

Your mind boggle.

What can we believe?

Private motives.

Public disdain.
Bots and bias.

World down the drain.

A swirling sea of hubris,

A health system in tatters.

Shaking hands? See those

Coughing MAGA Hatters?

With megaphones, chanting,

“It’s a liberal plot.”

Aimed to terrify, then coax.
“It’s those commie dims

And their impeachment hoax.”

Yet it’s true we’ve been

Lied to for months and months:

Facts tossed into the trash

Made mute by this classless dunce.

Would karma fulfill

Its ultimate mission?

What’s it waiting for?

Does it lack ambition?

People need to believe

A fairy tale ending.

“It’s going to be all right.”

But that’s not what’s trending.

The dimwit charlatan

Who can barely spell

Has a new product

That he’s eager to sell.

“Don’t worry about a thing.

Let’s begin the beguine.”

And lines form to take

The Emperor’s Vaccine.

Say Hello

We have a Raleigh zip code, but in truth, Ruth and I live outside the city limits, south of I-40 and Tryon Road.

Happily, in normal times, we are just seconds from what I suppose many of us often take for granted — fully stocked grocery stores.

Yesterday I encountered massive shortages at the closest Harris Teeter. Ensuing visits to other HT locations as well as to several competitors revealed the same issue.

This morning I ventured back to the closest HT, and many items had been restocked.

I thought about the Sisyphean task that these folks are now looking at daily. They are facing the same issues as you or me, but with a huge difference — they are part of the wheel that turns to keep our quality of life as high as it normally is.

We live in paradise, thanks to the efforts of those who handle our food, those that help us get well when sick, those that respond to emergencies in all forms. These people are critical, and they are often invisible as I suspect many of us “assume” that a policeman, a fireman, a nurse, a doctor, someone who keeps a grocery store stocked … that all of those folks are just doing their jobs. Well, they are, but they are also enduring the same uncertainties, the same dread, the same fear that we are experiencing.

It is widely known stress and fatigue are allies to sickness.  These people are working long hours. They are on the front line of risk, and that risk is made even more so as they continue to continue.

Don’t often suggest how anyone behaves, as it is not my business.

For instance, I see images of people in New Orleans and Florida clearly ignoring the current CDC guidelines. There are a lot of deaf ears out there.

But if you’ve read this far, and happen to know the John Prine song, HELLO IN THERE that deals with speaking with old folks (such as myself) … 

Here’s the final stanza:

So if you're walking down the street sometime

And spot some hollow ancient eyes,

Please don't just pass 'em by and stare

As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello."

Suggest that you apply the same empathy and compassion for those who are working so extraordinarily hard to keep our lives normal as possible.

When you’re in a grocery store, and see someone unpacking boxes to put food on shelves, take a moment. Look them in the eye, and tell them thank you.

My view is that we are all in the empathy and compassion business. A simple acknowledgement can be a burst of light, a sudden, cool breeze on a humid day.

Weekend Intensive Returns to N.C.

Last March I had the great fortune to participate in Shakespeare & Company's Weekend Intensive that was led by Andrew Borthwick-Leslie and held on the N.C. State campus.

A phenomenal experience that led to my attending a Month-Long Intensive held in January 2020, in Lenox, Massachusetts on the Shakespeare & Company campus.

Andrew, or ABL as many "month-longers" called him, is one of those very rare teachers who is as smart as he is passionate, as literate as he is accessible, and basically, one of the keenest, intuitive theatre "eyes" I've experienced.

Want to improve, not only as an actor but also a person?

Want to be challenged to face what is likely holding you back?

Want to share a journey with strangers that wind up becoming friends?

Don't hesitate.

Full disclosure: I'm a founding member of the PlayMakers Repertory Company, which will serve as host for this workshop, and it pleases me beyond measure that these two entities converge later this month.

Space is limited. Thus, APPLY TODAY! 

More details: 

Shakespeare & Company Weekend Intensive or call 413-637-1199 x114

Trunk of Ifs

One day I was

Thinking about 

Robert Frost

And Joseph Campbell.

Which way to go?

What to do if I could do it again?

What might have taken place

Had I wandered down the other road?

And as those thoughts of

What had happened

Mingled with might have,

I stumbled upon a

Trunk of Ifs.

A vague and distant voice

Muttered, “No one reads

The small print on the lid: 

Open carefully.”

I undid the hinge

And lifted.

Music came from deep

Within the crate. 

A guitar at first

Then joined by violin. 

Then drums.

And soon a bass and keyboard.

My Trunk of Ifs,

In a former life

Had been a juke box?

Or was that

Merely a clue?

I wanted to look

Into the chest

Almost as much
As I was hesitant.

What would I find?
How had I turned out?
Would I be more

Or less happy?

It occurred

That I had arrived

At yet another fork

In my journey’s route;

Another choice

To be made

That, most likely,

Would lead

To a similar container,

Perhaps crammed with hope

And stuffed with maybes.

And as the poem goes,

That made all the difference.