Something I’d like to say to the dbis whole. Not that it’s necessary or even particularly remarkable, but walking the grocery store parking lot alone in snow flurries and mild wind last night, it came sparkling to mind that I really do only have one update to make.

Sure I post a little angst & social insubordination on this board from view to vantage and, in doing so, expel a ration o thought that may or may not be that of a grateful man. ….I am a grateful man. Although the medical “establishment,” at times, gives me the woeful wanderin’ willies, I am grateful. Grateful for the epic n salaried scientists who prodded & medicated Maya in whatever mathematical enumeration sufficient to lead us to this point of having a warm, breathing, GVHD-induced multicolored, tender-lovin’, slightly yet only slightly anxious, wife & best friend resting her lovely head now on my lap while I try intently to relay this honest gratitude.

I bellyache out loud on the dbis because something inside the hearth o my heart do suggest, no, wail to the mainsails, that this digital soapbox is one o the last remaining remnants of our descendent human liberties and social responsibility to what stills our waters and centers our beings near the fulcrum as a weltered & wearying biped creature blasting this dear planet from here to kingdom come. … Well, that and the people who actually go out there and receive shudder strafings from rubber bullets and red rain on cold picket lines and in political activist rallies-a-sundry, all up and in they faces with no trace of fear and loathing.  Better women & men than I (a good healthy lot o the time), certainly: ..Namaste.. 

This is my beautiful wife. And this is my uh…beautiful house. Not altogether like the ol’ days some year and a half ago when we was fab, but we put a few speed bumps behind us, those of the sort underscored by pipes and drums and soliloquy, to be here in this singular today..together. And it is my personal longing to one-day share our “first kiss” again, Maya & me. To take this girl in my arms and kiss her full on the mouth with the whole of our passions ..without the fear that what’s drunk from me will send us back to the big white room to battle the microscopic monsters that have escaped our dreams & taken to streams that shake & topple us mortal things with big ideas & big smokestacks & big bad barges stacked to capacity with barrels filled to the hermetically-sealed yet stingily fallible brim with those toxic chemical byproducts of our economy & aloof superiority prefatorily served as a means to an end that I’m guessing none of us genuine lovers of life & limb are looking to find collapsing upon us any conceivable time soon.  Not if we’re remembering the color & the taste of things . . . and how those colors & tastes have faded just a bit with each year we’re here.  Hey, pal, stop with the creating of new hypercritical laws bent to prop up local revenue streams---it’s tyranny; & leave the motorcyclists alone, let ‘em ride the open roads because the air is good out there for those who still know the yearning, safety laws can be taken to a tyrannical level. But, please do take an honest look at toxic waste across the books, both raw & cooked, sirs and madams of the higher nooks, because here is where you will be judged by your progeny one day, long after you have claimed a sanctimonious fair share of the booty that be movin’ ya.   

There are perhaps one or two o you who will bark & balk and harrumph at the following, but there certainly is a mean tide of Leukemia and other cancers rising amidst the din of the movers and shakers o this world we’re in. Don’t tell me about the six Inca’s dug up dead-from-cancer…blah..blah..blah…and that means cancer’s been around forever.  So what if it has. It’s here and far-far more prevalent now. There are entire communities of cancer patients to prove it.  It’s not what you’re being sold in your talking points bulletin, brother-tool of the revenues trade, it is the real human calamity that you blanketly ignore that fills the till and sets the score. Don’t let me bore you, Ten Gallon, …flip the channel and coat your medallions with Hardball and other degenerate word processing machines. Arrogance has made a dirty bed, and each and every one of us are lying in it. & if it were just you and me, I’d say forget-about-it and get on with something worthy of a single day. But it is the progeny that our love and lust produce that will one day want to do it too and where will they be doing it?  In 300,000 $-£-€ saltboxes beside dumpsites & nuke-plants?

The ruthless fiscal elements have and do affect the globe, the state of ocean currents, etc. So play your canned replies in the venues of some other guys because U only oink to me.

I love my wife. She pisses me off to no end sometimes. Women can be such pleasure and pain. But, brother, ..when they are a pleasure ..it is pure paradise ..&, more often than not, when it’s pain, there is a meaningful point lurking beneath the surface of her purpose. ..I think you know what I’m talkin’ about. You three or four girls (on this popup panel o metaphorical matadors and maybe-moribund-but-surely-not-mellifluous miscreants in the faces of the ways & means committees that be) are the seeds of endue xylem in this asylum; I am here to testify, sista. The migrant workers made their Western trek to prove they could make a go at life and dignity. Only to find that we’d sold out our dignity back in the earliest centuries to the fella [with the little tin godli-hood] who subdued the womb & sold-out the schools, swimming pools n band rooms, to guaranteed platinum umbrellas used  to pad trust funds o loved ones & coffers o law firms that profit the BOD.  ........& it doesn't have to be this way.  

So what’s the point?  An update is all.  ..Although I may be an’ ol fussbudget with a wry and whittled shillelagh, up to my shenanigans with woody words and wangley-dangleys, I’m pleased as punch and just as peachy to have this day to count me blessings under an insulated old roof here beside the oh..best thing I ever bumped into (over and over again). Human endeavor made this possible. ..Mine in a conscientious but smaller way than that o Maya and her team of overachievers---nerdy characters with horn-rimmed glasses and sticks up their asses, and win-loss averages that’d shake the masses, & laudable to a fault.

I am contractually obligated to be Maya’s round-the-clock-n-able-bodied stoic sometimes and stabilized by humble pie served lukewarm and on the wild side, her sticky-pokey partner/caregiver with a smile. Contractually . . . obligated.  Somethin’, ain’t it?  Bureaucratic protocol required that I sign my name on a promissory document agreeing to look after this precious woman.  Shooot. [shrugs like Forrest Gump] I’d a done it ..anyway.  I would rather do just that precise thing than anything else I have ever dreamt. That & have a catch with my sons in the sunshine. The other stuff we once waxed on and wandered about in the setting sun can wait ..as long as we still breath n move n sing n groove n fling.. together here today..as two..as one...as two.

Thanks for keeping the dbis alive, Dan & David.  . . . it’s a good (sleepy-little) board.

~o~ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bBKM2NljZg <O>

Love & Rubber Bullets,

(Maya &) Messy

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p.s.

not sure who said it besides Chris Stevens from Northern Exposure, but it has stayed with me:

"...remember, it's not the thing you fling . . . but the fling itself...."