mine is bigger than yours

my response to a facebook post lamenting the loss of unions and, like a million

other posts, calling the United States "the greatest nation on earth":

i am all for unions and hope we can recover them, and save the ones that have survived the capitalist onslaught.  but when i look at this post i think about people like Donald Trump, who believe in this 'greatest' notion (themselves, their nation, their baseball team, their sex, their shade of skin).  it oozes out of the endless stream of propaganda flicks Hollywood has been churning out all these years.  it's pandered to by virtually every politician in every political speech. it feeds the lust for bloodshed and the contempt for the Democracy of people living in other nations (and all the other others there are).  but then there are some of us who think we're just people, like everybody else.  a distinguishing characteristic of being human is frailty, making mistakes so you can actually learn things.  it's in our shared vulnerability that our compassion finds its bearings.  so no, i don't agree that we are the greatest nation on earth.  never have been. evidence tells quite a different story.  persons of color and native americans could hardly call it 'the greatest' without betraying the memory of their friends and family, without denying their own exclusion.  but this is also true of pale-skinned people who recognise their membership in the family of humans, who accept no artificial boundaries within the single human race.  so let's have a go at being a nation of, for, and by human beings.  our brothers and sisters, our fellow passengers on the "greatest planet in the universe" will surely teach us things we never dreamed of.

- Evan Hawthorn,  the 23^rd of September, 2015

a brief excerpt from "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons"

Promethean pilgrims crossed the frozen expanse

traversing time from their fiery birth,

ferrying sparks of elemental essence

to the evanescent residents of earth.

and the harpy scowled and brandished her fist

irked at these heavens and their meddlesome rains

for making short work of banishing enchantments,

dispelling the mist she'd swelled with such pains.

she pressed the edge of a crumbling tombstone

and vanished beneath the cemetery grounds,

slinking down a subterranean passage

that echoed with crunches and gurgling sounds.

the snooping rat waited with the royal raiments

in the blaze of a torch that scorched the stone.

he smirked as she donned her crinkled crinolines,

tickled by the gilding of a wrinkled crone.

pausing on the threshold of a caved-in temple

she tossed a bone to a pale, hulking brute,

ensconced in the stench of previous suppers

stiffening in piles, rotting with their loot.

his lopsided face seemed to come unhinged

as he strived for a wink with his single, crazed eye.

wrenching her foot from a trail of slime, she said

"try and be more tidy, this place is a sty."

his muttered response had a whiny, cringing tone,

too shrill and unnerving to closely heed.

in any case Her Grace hastened away,

unable to process another creature's need.

while the snitch raced after his merciless mistress

skirting rivulets of travelling blood,

the ghoul yanked a morsel from his stacked up stiffs

relishing the squish and the sickening thud.

- Evan Hawthorn, the 19th of September, 2015

Sentimental Distortions and the American Way

on thanksgiving, American presidents pardon a turkey, while 45 million are killed.
this principle is routinely applied.  for example, President Obama had the chance to
come out of the closet and admit that it is Iran that is threatened, while our militant,
psychopathic, incorporated bullies with their lavishly funded "full spectrum dominance"
consistently ensure that threats to peace continue.  when we supplied chemical
weapons to Iraq to use against Iran, and thousands of Iranian soldiers were killed,
they did not retaliate with chemical weapons, because they considered that immoral.
this kind of behavior is clearly mystifying to our leaders.  the Iranians also deem
nuclear weapons to be immoral, while we obliterated two entire cities with them, and
have gone on using them as a threat to enforce our wishes on other nations, recently
declaring we consider them a 'first strike' option.  Iran borders SIX nuclear powers,
three of which (India, Israel, and Pakistan) the United States is actively shielding from
UN inspections.  it is also completely surrounded by US bases.  and, as recently proved,
thanks to the freedom of information act, the CIA assassinated their democratically
elected president in 1953, installing the brutal, corporate-friendly Shah, because
British economic "interests" were  "threatened" when the president decided
that the people profiting from Iranian produce should be the Iranians themselves.
rather than take the wind from the sails of the congressional clown car and explain
this REALITY to the American people, that we (and Israel) are the threat to peace
that must be contained, and Iran would be willing to be left alone, its scientists no
longer subject to assassination, its airplanes no longer 'accidentally' shot out of the
sky, its people free of the silent sanctions that managed to kill half a million Iraqi
children, Obama chose to negotiate a treaty based entirely on maintaining a
fabrication.  this deception lies like an unexploded landmine, waiting to go off and
kill a million more human beings.  he then placed a comment on a facebook page
about a sweet Iranian boy.  and the tribal democrats cheered, and the rabid
republicans bayed at the moon, and the circus of instantly inattentive attention
spans were blithely led away.

- Evan Hawthorn, the 14th of September, 2015

the mirror discovers new talents (an excerpt from "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons")

in this excerpt from my novella-poem "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons",

the magical mirror and Pally, the transvestite barmaid, are rescued from the alternate

dimension, thanks to the efforts of Guanyin, the blind wise woman (named for the
Chinese Goddess of Mercy), Mary the out-of-work Banshee, and the ever-handy
Gropey.  two other Curmudgeons are mentioned: Mock, who learns of his grandfather's
passing, and Weepy, the empathic twin from Honduras.  later, in the solicitous care
of Guanyin and her simian apprentice, the mirror acquires new talents...

*******

Gropey was already back at the portal

his wobbling legs protruding from the frame,

the rest of him covered in hovering absence

restively yearning for more of the same.

as Mortimer and Nate latched onto his feet

to anchor the transcendental tug of war,

Guanyin adjusted her receptive head

startled by a presence beyond the trembling door.

but Pally was already upon them

reflecting the candles with the flames in his eyes,

blushing at Nate from the folds of his cape

as the circle erupted in jubilant cries.

pivoting about he pitched in with Gropey

angling for an object still hidden from sight.

and together they managed the arduous task

of lifting the mirror into the light.

with the minstrel and carpenter's bolstering heft

they placed him on a plinth of antique brass,

where he swivelled for a moment, seeking balance,

till a lilac sigh pervaded the glass.

polishing a smudge with the fringe of his cape,

Pally said "you're safe 'ere, me redemptive friend."

he ran his fingers along a deep scar.

"mayhaps away from 'er you'll 'ave a chance to mend."

and seeming to confirm the time-honoured adage

the demon bespoken forthwith appeared.

for the queen herself loomed out of the portal,

pinpointed the mirror, and lividly leered.

reacting to the banshee's unnerving shriek

Anastasia flinched, thrown off her steely guard.

then thoroughly scanning all of their faces

her eyes flung darts at Sylvana and the bard.

arrows of flame sparked from Guanyin's tapir

engulfing the frame in a detonating flash

that rent the room with ricocheting thunder

and crushed liquid light into sifting green ash.

in the silence that followed Solomon whimpered

for he'd nearly been frightened back from death.

yet no trace remained of the uninvited

and everyone slowly recovered their breath.

Pally and Nate were plucked from their rapture

by the prickling sensation of Mock's pressing eyes,

staying their swaying when he asked "where's Gramps?"

in a panicked, fragile voice he couldn't disguise.

Nate responded to tensing trepidation

enfolding Mock in the solace of their arms,

while Pally laid bare the soul-rending rupture,

coating its harshness with tenderhearted charms.

silently Weepy came up behind them

cannily attuned to the tides affecting Mock,

that scrappy delinquent who'd scraped up supper

for migrants starving on an indifferent dock.

the self-starting candles darkened the room

and then one at a time lit up in succession,

bequeathing a sacred travelling flame

to wreathe the bereaved in a haloed procession.

later that night in the slumbering forest

Guanyin drew down dust from the wandering stars;

restoring the mirror's mercurial surface,

healing his prisms and sealing his scars.

her simian apprentice crouched by her side

steeping a chalice in the moon's reflection,

its kindred essence rippling and gleaming

exhaling the mists of its primal protection.

and the potion bestowed lucidity

ladling luster where the elixir trickled,

a lunar aurora shimmering in streaks

while quivering squeaks suggested it tickled.

but the stellar windfall was the parsing of paths,

the gift for projecting a journey's end,;

a timeless aligning of parting particles

in patterns plotted from whence they might wend.

and the novice barely smudged the surface

in tilting it back to its upright position.

yet a tropical vista swiftly unfurled

for touch was the key to start the ignition.

and the misty-eyed monkey cooed with longing

as mislaid memories stumbled into view.

then the prospect frosted with twinkling beacons

skimming icy depths of lonely, midnight blue.

*******

(thus endeth the excerpt - Evan Hawthorn, the 30th of August, 2015)

misery in Macedonia

while this smacks of the militaristic
crowd control being implemented
just about everywhere,and no
doubt shows the Macedonian
government to be blithely unaware
of their responsibilities,
it is at the same time a reminder of the misery US foreign policy continues to engender
and a disturbing harbinger of what is surely to come if drastic changes are not
accomplished soon.  for water aquifers are emptying, droughts are intensifying,
and many low lying areas have a limited time remaining before their populations
are forced to evacuate.  the image in this photo is destined to be magnified beyond
endurance if the 'Washington Consensus' of heartless bureaucrats retain their
rapacious stranglehold on the earth.

the United States of Secrecy

in an actual Democracy, the Obama administration's enmity towards Julian Assange and
WikiLeaks would automatically disqualify them from public office, revealing as it does their
dependence on secrecy and virulent antipathy to transparency. (while refusing to arrest a
single war criminal they hound whistleblowers with unprecedented vengeance and cruelty).
as this behavior is so obviously diametrically opposed to the very concept of Democracy,
(for how can a state be run "for and by" a people who don't even know what it's doing?)
any journalists' outlet worthy of the name would have made this front page news years
ago, and the party in opposition would have milked it for all it's worth.  the fact that these
things don't happen reveals a Democracy on its deathbed, with rigor mortis already 
setting in, for the media and both parties view this secrecy and aversion to transparency
as something that must be protected - as essential to their continued existence as the
very air they breathe.

Solomon reassembles (an extract from Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons)

Solomon, the reassembling skeleton, is a character in my novella-poem

"Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons".  originally encountered in

the Curmudgeons' cottage, he fled when a raccoon scrambled his bones.

later in the tale, while taking tea with Mary the banshee, he is invited

to accompany her to the cottage in order to help the Curmudgeons stave

off the machinations of the needy queen.  though he agreed to tag along,

he expressed reservations (pointing out that, ever since he'd come out of

the closet, he'd had endless bother just keeping himself stacked).

over the last few days i've been writing a scene that gives Solomon a chance to

display his reassembling technique.  since that sort of thing doesn't happen every

day, i thought i'd share it.  the scene is joined in progress, as the Curmudgeons

attempt to rescue Lumpy, Pally and Gramps from an altered dimension, through a

flickering emerald window conjured by Guanyin, the wise woman from the east...

********

amidst the confusion Gropey crept to the frame

teetering on his toes to peer inside,

tipping while tugging at something cumbersome

that suddenly came loose and started to slide.

and rolling in a ball that picked up speed

as their somersaults nearly attained perfection,

Gropey clumped in Lumpy plowed into Solomon

scattering bones in every direction.

"oh, bother!" his jawbone dolefully exclaimed

from the jostling jumble struggling on the rug,

where squirming vertebrae aspired to fuse

and humorous femurs exchanged a stiff hug.

erecting a sort of leapfrogging ladders

clacking and scraping and oozing graveyard dust,

a rickety scaffolding reared itself up

as everyone looked on, transfixed with disgust.

a procession of unhinged appendages

hauled themselves into a chorus line shuffle

thumping hollow tones on makeshift xylophones,

saddling the spine with a creaking kerfuffle.

as the rattling rib cage slowly unfolded

it squeezed out a wheezing, torturous sound,

reminiscent of croaking accordions

or flatulent ghosts haunting frack-riddled ground.

sockets interlocked in spindly symmetry

rigging up a sinewy Chinese puzzle

in a dangling homage to rotting tissues,

lapsed ligaments, and memories of muscle.

kindred clicking digits emulated Zen

with their grim union of astral adhesion,

fostering factions of festering phalanxes

in synchronized, disjointed cohesion.

the whole contraption spun from centrifugal force

settling rigid grooves in slippery sync,

enabling his penchant for jiggling gestures

and the latent leaning to shimmy and slink.

and crowning the feat with a nauseating crunch

the skull was scooped up and plunked into place.

as Solomon coughed and spit out a maggot,

a winsome, fractured grin unfastened his face.

********

(thus endeth the excerpt - Evan Hawthorn, the 25th of July, 2015)