A review of Neil Young’s Paradox

Pass the mushrooms…
….and the hashish cakes,
Fire up the moon,
We’re showing introspective outertakes,
And not a flash too soon,
Time bending forwards, bending backwards,
Night in the afternoon,
Sweet peyote, morning glory,
Fire up the moon……

This film is like a compressed Tom Robbins novel, and that’s high fucking praise in my books.

“When seeds are outlawed, outlaws will save the seeds.”

We’re Not In Kindergarten

I’ll be here for you,
Not there for you,
I’ll show you that I care for you,
But don’t ask me to copy, cut, or paste,
I’m pretty sure that’s not the answer,
To either Alzheimer’s or cancer,
Plus it’s tedious and in rather poor taste,
I’ll do things that I should,
I’ll fight the fight that’s good,
I’ll call or PM, to see you’re on the mend,
I’ll do those things that are real,
Based upon the way I feel,
And not because it’s another Facebook trend.


Her history, she said,
Was one to dread,
Which she did.
Kept things hid.
Too much to feel,
She couldn’t deal,
And so instead,
She’d find,
With an open mind,
Her legs could spread,
Let others tread,
In her secret garden,
She’d grant them pardon,
To have their way,
So she could say,
She’d kind of feel,
Though not for real,
But it was a start,
It’d plant the seed,
So she’d grow to need,
To be truly freed,
To spread her heart.

Everybody Thinks They Know

Everybody thinks they know.

There must be something.

Try it this way.

Say it that way.

They’ll respond to this.

They’ll respond to that.

“Just give it time.”

Sooner or later they’ll come around.
Just don’t give up. You can never give up.

Don’t give up?

Who the fuck do you think you are?

Give up?

What the hell does that even mean?

No matter what I do. Anywhere, anytime,

They are in my thoughts constantly.

I’ve reached out, so many times, and been slapped down, again, and again.

I have a right to survive as well.

If you want to offer me help, and support,

An ear to listen, then fine.

But don’t pretend to know. Don’t speak of that of which you have no experience,

no knowledge.

Give me a hug,

But not your fucking blind ignorant hope.

My hope is chiseled. Focused.

Doled out deliberately in small doses,

for where I think it might be most effective.

At times, even after all these years,

It slips away from me,

And I find myself, against my better judgement, hoping with reckless and wild abandon.

Till I reign it in

Knowing that that way sadness lies.

I have hope, a goddamned motherlode of hope.

But I will not squander it foolishly.

It will be tempered.

It must be tempered.

Forged, and made strong in the furnace of my heart,

Able to withstand,

The time, and the journey,

No matter what the cost.

I understand never, oh yes,

from too many angles,

So don’t give me your platitudes,

Give me your shoulder, and perhaps a smile,

In the darkest times hold me,

But don’t placate me.

I know of what I speak, from the depth and breadth of my being.

Respect that, learn to just listen.

Nothing more.

Naughty or Nice?

All my nice has a little naughty,
My naughty well sprinkled with nice,

So without sounding too high and haughty, 

I recommend that you take my advice, 

Don’t be completely good or bad,

Before you commit, think thrice!

For it’s the balance twixt the two,

That gives our life its spice!


You are filled with grace,

An effortless respect,

To act,

With great affect,

To interface,

So that all you meet,

Feel raised up,

You fill their cup,

You wash their feet,

Albeit as a metaphor, 

But they feel more,

For having met you,

Having known you,

You improve their lives, 

Simply by,

Your acts of kindness,

Your refusal to,

Accept daily blindness,

Your example,

Is not lost on me,

I wish,

That all of us could be,

Our better selves,

The we, we should,

The inner good, 

For by your actions,

You show and say,

That Love,

It is the only way,

We can’t walk,

In everyone’s shoes,

But just like you, 

We can choose,

To understand, 

To use the will,

 At our command,

To testify,

Crave and demand,

A better way, 

So that one fine day, Yes one fine day……….     ❤


According to our friend René,

The fact we think was his small way,

To prove that we exist,

Bur lately I am of the mind,

That thinking is on the decline,

Perhaps an angle that Descartes missed, 

We used to think, therefore we were,

Deep and philosophical for sure,

We used to have a hamster on our wheel,

Kind of sad, but I’m not whining,

In fact I see a silver lining,

Just maybe none of this craziness is real!

Monday’s Child – Updated

I felt the need to put my updated spin on the old classic:

Monday’s child is narcissistic, 

Tuesday’s child is caustic and cryptic,

Wednesday’s child, picks up the slack, 

Thursday’s child, bit of a throwback,

Friday’s child can’t distinguish fiction,

Saturday’s child is prone to addiction, 

The child born on Sunday is very rarely blue, but for the most part, hasn’t really a clue!