Refugee From Reason

Dewey & LeBoeuf, once one of the largest, most “important” law firms in the filed for bankruptcy last night. Simply put, it was insolvent. While the firm had some of the so-called “top” attorneys in the naton, I wonder about the issue of “character.” Did any partners even consider reducing their compensation? More than 100 received in excess of $5 million annually, frequently charging $1,000 an hour. Think about it. I also read today that “Consumer Confidence” plummeted last month. These statistics, in my view, no longer have to compiled: The economy can assessed at any time these days anecdotally: Just look at the increase in traffic and sales at 99 Cent stores and the like. Again, I’m prompted to wonder what’s right with the world.

TypePad: I have concluded....

That this venue is not for that which I'd like to post, which is poetry. It's impossible to cut it and paste in a format. So, if you've enjoyed my work, please go to my stand-along blog at www.refugeefromreason.com.

IN MEMORIAM: JOHN BERRYMAN

"No typewriters – ha! ha! – no typewriters – Alas! For I have much to open, I know immense Troubles & wonders to their secret curse." & so he wrote in Op. Posth. no. 6, "Dream Songs" & all that Until he opened the secret curse & leapt from a bridge in Minneapolis, His coat tails flying, A pair of glasses Bulging somewhere in his pockets, Knowing He did not need to see the Mississippi River.             2. On Xmas '71, he wrote me:         "Thank you very much         for your booklet which         I've read with interest         and admiration esp. for         the tel. poem & 'Edges'.          May I wish you         the good luck we all         need and His blessing.                          Yrs          John Berryman Yrs, mine, his nobody's (Like Henry He thought God was on the edge of things – From Op. Posth. No. 5 "Jehovah. Period. Yahweh. Period. God."

 

            Period.

 

             3.

 

It was "Edges" that interested him,

A poem that ends

"My cells are in a boil for death.

Death, like a circle, is self-defined."

But now his death

Is self-defined,

Another alcoholic

Who couldn't make love work,

Wandering to the brink

(Bridges are such marvelous inventions)

Memories of his father's suicide

Welling behind him

Until the flood-gates burst

& the water shimmied

With coat-tails

Flaming behind him,

His beard like Jehovah's

His Pulitzer-Prized body

Wobbling

In 100 feet of air,

No minstrel-face

No playing on tambourines,

No polite applause of the moruners,

(How he loved that phrase – End-men)

& now he was his own end-man.

Put on a little soft-shoe,

Do a little black-face, boys,

Harmonize the tributes,

The minstrel show's begun:

Twang it on your banjos,

Bang it on your knees

(His own final instructions

Were quite clear:

"Bury me in a hole, and give a cheer").

 

            4.

 

Bidding Mr. Bones Farewell:

 

A few seconds in the air,

Arms outstretched

In a panicked crucifix,

His face gone white,

The tie loosened,

Eyes hurting with the pressure

Of the fall.

 

Until the shyster water close,

History loomed

Upon the buckling of a bone,

He fell: Like that humpbacked king,

Touseled Richard,

Amid a battleground

Of unbridled horses

He cries, "My life, my life,

My Kingdom for my life."

Medusa

Medusa's head was not so grand,
The ivy did not stare, sand
Went about its business, the land
Refused to foam under the wand
Of her permanent wave. Medusa's hand
Clawed the air, & her teeth spanned
Europe, yet she did not understand
Why her love was stone. She had planned

To lie in bed, her snakes fanned
About her ears, awaiting her tanned
Ordinary lovers with their fiery brand
Of kisses, but her mortal eye unmanned
them all. Night after night, she scanned
The dark for lovers & trying to command
Their affection, she'd undo the strand
Of silk about her waist, the narrow band

That held her heart, but when her demand
For love remained unanswered & the land
Brimmed quiet, she drew her wicked hand
Over herself. The curse that banned
All human touch was more than she could stand,
But the ivy did not stare, & the sand
went about its business.

New Directions (And why can't TypePad handle simple text posts)

Well, this blog has been up for five years or so. I've used to to publish new poems, comment on current events and society, rant at various issues, political and otherwise and for a time discuss my life with a drunk: My ex-wife. I have tried to delete all old posts about her, however, Typepad just doesn't make it easy. That said, I've a lot of questions about that via email; about my personal life and about what I do for a living and who I am. It's time, I suppose, that I get all of that out of the way, as frankly, I'm tired of answering the questions, the most asked of which is "Why did you get married to that woman [the drunk]?" Hell, I'm not at all sure, though she seemed quite intelligent, talented and witty at the time I met her and had been a clothing designer. Despite the fact that she could outdrink me (I don't drink much as it is) didn't mean anything to me at the time: I had been a reporter and knew a lot of my colleagues who drank [especially on the road covering campaigns], but the word "alcoholic" never came into my mind. It wasn't until after we were married that I "got it." She was not a pretty or fun drunk, but rather a mean one, who frequently tried to attack me. Three times I called the police and three times they called the EMTs who took her away, once putting her in a mental institution and twice in the hospital. We're divorced now and I rarely hear from her. There was quite a bit on this blog about my drunk [ex-] wife, but I've taken down. It's fallen into the "Who Cares" basket. First ex-wife: As I've frequently told people who asked about that divorce, "She gave up the kids, they were 6 and 3 at the time, voluntarily. She got alimony, I got sole custody." That should tell you all you need to know. Suffice it to say that it was probably the best thing that's ever happened to me; being a single parent of my kids (now grown and on their own). They're my closest friends, along with my dog. My second ex-wife was quite nice actually…until she became "spiritual." She was very intelligent, and a mathematician who became a systems analyst at a major government agency. "Spiritual's" fine with me, until you start spending a $1,000-$2,000 a month on "channels" and "healers," with your life revolving around burning sage, speaking in what sounded like tongues and paying those "healers" for "healing" over the telephone, not only for herself, but her cat. It ended rather amicably. These days I live in an apartment. I've never wanted to live anywhere else but an apartment, though I've owned several houses in West Los Angeles, Las Vegas and in Washington, DC. I never wanted to, as no matter where I live, I am a dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker. It was always wives who wanted a house. Houses: I fine them a pain in the neck. They're costly and rarely does one ever "burn the mortgage," as Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn did in "Adam's Rib." Beyond that, either you have to call someone to fix things, then pay for it; or do it yourself. I like neither. I prefer to "call the super." Besides, when you live in a house, you accumulate "stuff," and I highly recommend going to YouTube or elsewhere to see/hear George Carlin's riff on "Stuff." I live quite nicely. The apartment's a good size, less than ten years old and very comfortable, with all the appropriate amenities. My life is a good one. I don't "date" much, as it's clear that in this area my selection process, so to speak, isn't especially good. I've no problem pointing out that I enjoy television, almost anything but reality shows and probably most non-fiction. So, what's my life like today. It's relatively solitary, save having to deal with clients - I fix things for companies in trouble; I resolve crises. I do regularly visit my kids who are on both coasts. I think that's about enough for now and should answer most of the questions I've been asked. You can always ask more via email, refugeefromreason @ refugeefromreason.com (you'll have cut and paste that one: too much spam out there).

Drunks Hiding Booze

My wife, as regular readers know, is a died-in-the-wool, "functioning" alcoholic. If you don't know what that means, check, http://alcoholism.about.com/od/problem/a/functional.htm and
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/05/health/05brod.html.
That said, they try so hard to hide their booze, yet they're rarely good at it.
To wit:

And "Cherry Vodka?"
Really? I'd use that as an emetic. Word to the wise, or even not so wise: Stay away from all drunks. Disease or not, they lie, cheat, steal and have virtually little or no common sense. I no longer have sympathy for any of them. Even those in "Recovery," with a several or more years of "sobriety,"
you never know.

Chairs, Simply Chairs

Today is going to be a great day (my expectations for even "good" days are relatively low and I only classify as "bad," "good" and "great").

My new deskchair is scheduled for delivery today. It was only $60, delivered from a chain office store:

 

A new chair may not seem to be a notion for celebration or glee, but since I moved into the apartment two months ago, I've been using a folding chair:

 

I am so looking forward to delivery, as is my back. Now, my new chair isn't all that great, at that price, but it's apparently serveable and relatively comfortable, according to the reviews on the site, though there were couple that noted that the seat is a bit hard. A pillow solves that...and the price, all important these days, was certainly okay (it included tax).

 

Interestly, I checked Craig's List first and made two inquiries to which I received no responses. I've put things up for sale there a number of time and always responded. I found it a bit odd that my queries weren't answered, but perhaps those items were sold and the seller never took down the ad.

 

Stupidity

Notwithstanding a number of degrees, a higher than average intelligence quotient and, I'm told, an impressive work history and current business, I am essentially a stupid man. Albert Einstein said, "Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." He also said that "Insanity doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." I am either stupid or insane according to the good Doctor. With regard to insane, I've been married three times - not one of them successful, though the current one is still in tact, technically. I didn't want this post to be about my current so-called wife, who is working today from 2 'til 10 but is now busy writing a letter to her HR person complaining about "harrassment" by dispatchers. She believes that she's being harrassed because she's good looking and the dispatchers aren't (I don't know them). But please, yes, she's attractive, but she's also 60. But, I, as I often do, digress. Back in the late 80s and through the 90s I was considered "affluent," and indeed, I was…until I got my second divorce, which cost me a house, which in '98 I had to sell for nearly $800k, virtually all the equity going to my ex-wife, who held an MA in math and was eminently capable of working…and she got alimony to boot. As I said, my second divorce. The first one ended just as badly, but I did, as regular readers know, got full and sole custody of my kids. Now I am stuck…but perhaps there is a subconscious method to what I am doing. I spend at least a couple of hours a day marketing my so-called "wife's" business. Now, she still works full time and is taking part-time employees on commission, but the business is becoming successful. In many respects, most I think, it's because of the marketing. I'm hoping that it becomes so successful that she feels financially secure enough to leave me. How's that for odd. I can more than survive on my own income, though it's nowhere near where it used to be. Long ago I found myself able to differentiate between "wants" and "needs." Frankly, I need rent, food and cable/Internet. That's it. Now I am back to the woman with whom I live. I noticed as she was leaving for work today, no wedding ring on her finger. It made me feel modestly sad, but actually relieved. I took mine off as well. I'm not sure if that was "stupid" or not, but it seems okay for the moment. In the interest of candor, I am most definitely not the easiest person with whom to live. However, I was raised properly and I'm inordinately polite and considerate. I never yell and rarely raise my voice. I am, indeed, a nice fellow, though I have a low tolerance for certain behaviors. It was, as I mentioned, my fault that we have thousands in hospital bills when I called the police to handle a drunk wife who was threatening me. Ah, but I must now get back to work and try to earn a buck or two.

Again, Maggie

Mondays. They’re no worse nor any better than any other day for me anymore. Just another day of watching the foolishness around me and thinking, to grab a phrase from Longfellow, “long thoughts.” Maggie came to mind a moment ago, which prompted this post. She remains the only real mystery in my life. I was, not to be immodest, a good reporter; good at tracking things down; finding things. Yet, I can find no record of her, save her last address, now more than five years old. It is almost astonishing to me that someone who was part of my life for more than two decades, almost a third of my life, can vanish. I do not know if she’s married, alive or dead. Our relationship for that period was certainly not all smooth. Far from it. Perhaps it is the old reporter in me that doesn’t let me put it away. It’s not love, I’m sure of that. It is an inquisitiveness that, while not overwhelming, is manfest from time to time. It will, no doubt, be a mystery for the remainder of my life.

Glasses

I wear two pair of bifocals. My eyes are neither good nor bad enough to get trifocals. One pair is exclusively for the computer; the other everything else. Now, because I go back and forth from the computer, I wear both pairs on lanyards or whatever one calls those strings. Does anything see anything wrong with that?

Apparently she thinks it makes me look "old." Hell, I am old. More importantly, it keeps me from hunting down a pair of glasses, or at least the ones I need to wear.

All is well though, as she continues to sleep in the guest room.

[The above was written yesterday]

Tomorrow will be a good day. She will be out almost all day…and I've got a couple of Marx Brothers movies to watch.