On New Year’s Eve
I always get weird.
I think about my failures,
for there’ve been more of those
I think about my wife,
her gentle, enduring beauty,
and about my life
and how it’s going to unfold
in the next 20 or 30 years.
If I have that long.
I’m closer to death now
than I ever have been before.
So are you.
You know that, right?
Every little day
closer to the big sleep.
And when mine comes
I hope you’ll be at the party,
a big party,
for I will have raged against dying.
Raged hard, obstinate, and fiercely.
Hell, I’m fighting death now.
I mean, aren’t we all?
I’m fighting it all the time.
Because it’s going to be 2020 in about 12 hours,
and, you know, I have shit to do.
The blade runner time
didn’t start this year,
no flying cars,
but we have more artificial people than ever.
Many of them are running our supposed country,
So I’m sitting here, smoking,
waiting for the demons and imps,
the ones I usually hold at bay,
to come beating down
the walls of my mind
and demand their Christmas presents.
The bastards, they think
because they have a place in my head
they’ve earned a place in my head.
it’s all about me,
but it’s all about them,
and how I’m going to try again
to evict them by drowning them in eggnog.
Yeah, I know, Mother’s Day is quasi-holiday that is way too commercialized. But that doesn’t mean we can’t legitimately set aside one day per year to honor our mums for bringing us into this world and then doing their best not to fuck everything up after that. Motherhood is hard work, a lifetime of it. It’s 24/7 for at least 18 years but really it’s from the day you’re born until the day one of you dies. And for the rest of their life whoever remains has to do whatever it takes to keep from falling completely apart emotionally.
It’s vicious, it’s cruel, it’s love, and it’s life itself. If asked I bet most mothers would say they wouldn’t trade one good, great, bad, or horrible second of raising their children for anything. I hope that includes your mom.
To celebrate this day of Eggs Benedict, mimosas, and fresh-cut flowers I present a small gallery of photographs I’ve taken in the past few years of moms and their kids. I hope you enjoy it, and see the beauty and edginess in these people who share a human bond like no other…
Brisbane, California, July 2015
Kagurazaka, Tokyo, Japan, November 2015
Sierra Point Yacht Club, Brisbane, California, September 2016
Clarion Alley, San Francisco, March 2017
Nijiya Market, Japantown, San Francisco, July 2017
Easter is a lonely business…
Tonight the moon was less than full but more than willing,
the kind of moon that inspires killing
lovers, hearts, and alcohol,
this versatile moon can do it all.
And if the moon isn’t worthy, it’s still better than you.
It never killed for a temple or pew.
So sleep your dreams, and dream of sleep.
The moon is never ours to keep…
Lacking both the energy and ambition on Christmas Eve to present to you photographs and text covering my usual range of topics, I’ve decided to just show you some pictures of my cats. My insane, hyper-kinetic, fuzzy-beautiful fucking cats. I figure no matter where you are as a Scholars and Rogues reader on the American political spectrum, my 10-month-old cats will cause no offense and might even make you smile.
See, 2017 has been a rather shitty year for me. Two big reasons why are my wife was hospitalized in January, then we lost our beloved cat Indy on Valentine’s Day. Being the life-long cat ladies that we are, my wife and I intensely felt how empty both our lives and our house were after Indy. So even though we both felt emotionally that it was too soon after his death and the deep grief it caused to have new cats, we adopted two eight-week-old kittens on April 1st from some very nice folks up near Sacramento.
And these are they, Kuro and Mika, brothers from the same litter, furry brigands who chew on everything, routinely beat the shit out of each other, and haven’t a mean bone in their bodies even though the are ruthlessly lethal to the toy mice (with the rattling bits inside) that I keep finding under every goddamned piece of heavy furniture in our house. So it goes living with with the aggravating grace of the feline species…
Mika, on the left, has white feet and a distinctive crescent moon patch on his neck. Kuro, on the right, is entirely jet black. They’re thrilled to meet you, as you can see.
Mika also has white areas on his chest and belly. And he likes to leap over our bathroom door.
They both like boxes, but Kuro is particularly fond of them.
Kuro also likes to chew on shit, in this case my cigarette lighter.
Mika loves toys, but wasn’t fast enough to eviscerate this pink one when I dropped it for him.
This will be their first Christmas with us, or with anyone. They’re not entirely clear on that concept.