morning - time to milk the goats

It was morning again.

It was morning again, and I woke up still alive, so I waded into a pot of coffee that tasted of Ophelia’s madness. 

It was morning again, and I had absolutely no control over that. Again.

My feet had begun to develop personalities of their own, and they registered to vote with a different party than me, but what can I do about it? I have to walk. 

My feet, when brought close to my face, smelled slightly like fish, a dumpster fire, and Robert Downey Jr after a drug binge in a Palm Springs motel. No one wants that. 

It was morning again, and my sins had a large population, indeed, my sins now had their own zip code, their own telephone exchange, their own internet domain. My sins were taught in those parochial schools that still teach Latin. Latin had become their second tongue. 

It was morning again, and when I looked into the mirror above the sink I saw my father's face looking back at me. After splashing this face with cold water I saw my mother's face. There was no escape from that particular hell. 

My hands might betray me and do violence. I don't condone this, but I also don't control it. I am afraid of my own hands. You should be, too. 

My hands love to stroke a woman as if she were velvet or mink, my hands are liars in their own right. 

Coffee. The madness of Ophelia. My hands, feet, and sins. My face in the mirror. Violence, followed by a woman to caress. 

It was morning again, and I was doubting my own veracity. 

It was morning again, and I knew that my poor version of the truth was exposed. 

It was morning again, and I slowly opened the straight razor.

It was morning again, so I forgave myself yet again. And shaved. 

james lee jobe

It’s not that we are always going to have the capacity to engage in tremendous acts of generosity and kindness. It’s that we’re open and available to realizing that things are different than they seem.

Mindy Newman

The Allman Brothers Band, ONE WAY OUT 

It’s goat milking time. 

Cast a shadow across the sundial and darken it, 

pretend that sundown has come. 

Gather the goats and bring them to the barn 

for the evening milking. 

But we have no barn, 

and we have no goats, 

and the sun is blistering hot at noon. 

If there is a shadow, it is in me 

and not across the sun dial. 

So there is no goat milk, 

but there is still a lot of this day yet to live, 

and that's something. 

james lee jobe

October Sonnet, a poem by Adrian Matejka

If you don't stick to your values when they're being tested, they're not values: they're hobbies. 

Jon Stewart

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jlj