A notebook bulletin board
tacked on when randomly bored
applied thoughts in a scribblebook
open for the world to look who passes by
so fast to see like a needle in a haystack we
safely stash those innermost secrets thought to be
at least you see languishing up and into pristine
blossoms for you to pick and sniff and hope
they don't make you sick.


To Seventy Years

I don't even know what to say. It's Father's Day, 2013. Sounds like a futuristic dystopian date to me. My own father was murdered over a quarter of a century ago in the beloved country where I was born and he'd lived for just over twenty years, Honduras. To even imagine ever having lived there can sometimes be difficult, when I consider the time spans involved. Then I remember that I am, after all, nearly fifty years of age, myself. Now that I find hard to believe. My father would be seventy if he were still alive, today. If he were still alive...that's when the substream of my mind which slumbers on is jolted awake, suddenly. That's it...I've only been assuming he wasn't alive. Who are we to define anything. I mean, just look at it. If all the energy and matter in the universe is recycled endlessly as implied by the second law of thermodynamics, there is no such thing as death really. I mean sure, there's such a thing as the shedding of mortal coils and a whole conglomerate of other details including but not limited to the ritualistic burial of human beings whose biological functions have ceased altogether, but I just don't want to get into all that right now, suffice it to say I've given the matter some thought about how the process works and it just occurred to me, if all the recent discoveries we've made about the real nature of black holes turns out to be true (and there is no longer any reason whatsoever to not suspect that all life in the entire universe is seeded through black holes) then I don't even really need to comprehend exactly how the biological remnants that were my father may have been cosmically recycled, all I can do is rest assured and more than suspect that my feelings of having been mistaken upon deliberating over the perception that we and everything around us are merely parts of a greater whole have been only half correct and hence the likeliest conclusion in evidence of the fact that one is the only number in existence since all remaining numerals are merely indications of fractions of the universal totality, is the plain and painfully obvious observation that I am my own father after all just as my four month old baby son is truly me but to limit that statement to referring to ourselves genetically is to miss the entire picture you see of simplicity being so enormous that it often misses observation by the likes of you and me but like I said, like me, you may rest assured that the reason we are born when dying and ressurrected at birth is we are only one entity and that is why we continue to crucify ourselves because at least half of the world cannot see the beautiful forest for the prison of their trees, that there are no parts, just you and me and everything, so happy Father's Day to all who have dared or stumbled upon and fallen into the role of precursor, it is a glorious day after all when you stop and realize this is all from you and for you alone, our father, our son, our holy ghost at the very least, and at the most, I do dare to declare a toast.