Fill your mind with ideas, not just reasons. 
Fill your heart with love, not just passion.
Fill your body with action, not just motion.
Fill your soul with deeds, not just devotion. 

Fill your SELF with peace.
Fill your CHILD with curiosity.  
Fill your HOME with friends. 
Fill your WORLD with beauty. 

So let's fill our cup with wine,
Sing a song and rhyme a rhyme,
Raise it high and count to three,
MAKE A TOAST to you and me!

I had a dream that we all laughed, spun in circles, holding hands, catching rain on our tongues. We held tightly, as if letting go meant spinning away alone forever. We spun beneath a canopy of still-life clouds; round round under a pale sunlit moon. Spun like pinwheels, colors faded, weathered, but warm and bold in spite of sun, rain. We spun and held on and laughed because that day was perfect once.

Freedom is as important as oxygen. Being free to live the way you want, to believe what you want, and to love who you want, is a basic human right that should be defended. But freedom doesn't mean doing anything you want, whenever you want to do it. Freedom requires honesty and self-awareness; All actions have consequences, and only a fool or a coward uses freedom as an excuse to treat themselves or others badly.

Every day, the curtain gets pulled back some more.
I see the world in ways I never have before.
One by one, the masks are slipping off faces.
Of those it meant so much to me to be in their good graces.
Something happened while losing my mind one day,
Some superheroes helped me find it, and some others flew away.
I'm relieved to know that my soul was never really a bet,
but that I almost lost it anyway, I never will forget!

Woke up just now with my phone in my hands and a word half-typed.... "MAGNIF..." I guess I must have fallen asleep dreaming of capturing an angel in a poem, or a butterfly in a frame. Maybe it was a moment that wasn't meant to be completed; a sentence better left unfinished. Anyway, it's gone forever now. I only wish I could remember what I felt that merited such a lovely set of incomplete letters! It'll come back to me someday, I'm sure. 

Bin Laden is DEAD!

They looked for him, they found him, and put a cap in his ass (or his head!)..

You know, there's a lot of warm and fuzzy in me when it comes to matters of crime and punishment, but this is a no-brainer...

The world is a better place without Osama Bin Laden in it! Not a single tear should be wasted on that scurvy dog. Much like the rotting carcass that poisoned the well, he just needed to be removed from the world without a single ounce of pity. Think of it this way... He died knowing what he had gotten himself into, it should not have come as a surprise to him...,
The men and women that perished on 9/11 had no such warning. Bin Laden and his associates committed a COWARDLY act, and for that, he deserves no sympathy from anyone but his closest family... Fuck him, I want to see his head on a stick.

Gotta leave it all behind? Really? But I got so much stuff!!! ;)

One of my favorite U2 songs is 'Walk On', but I don't think I've really understood it's lyrics until recently...

"And love is not the easy thing...
The only baggage you can bring
Is all that you can't leave behind"

The baggage is the best and the worst of you, the perfectly imperfect soul that makes you who you are...

"Leave it behind
You've got to leave it behind
All that you fashion
All that you make
All that you build
All that you break
All that you measure
All that you steal
All this you can leave behind
All that you reason
All that you sense
All that you speak
All you dress up
All that you scheme..."

These are the things that reside within you, but shouldn't be carried like luggage from doorway to doorway, if you ever hope to be free of the things that have held you down. These are the calculated, pathological, and ultimately self-defeating patterns of thought which prevent us from just 'feeling' instead of explaining, justifying... They are the things that exist everywhere else but in the moment.

Register, Reflect, Release. Leave all that bullshit behind.

I love U2. Their words inspire me to seek awareness and harmony with everything around me, without ever settling for oblivion as a means for escape...

"Home... hard to know what it is if you've never had one
Home... I can't say where it is but I know I'm going home
That's where the hurt is"

Home is never easy, especially if you were born with a gypsy heart! Home can be messy, home can be crowded... Home makes you think about what is important, because it's always in your face... But without home, whatever that may mean to you, there is only life as a refugee...

Eventually, we all seek 'home' and establish it wherever, and with whomever, we can. In the meantime, taking time to get to know your particular corner of the wilderness, and not settling for anyone else's answers, is the best way to go *For Me!

*my disclaimer!

My boy the poet!

 I came across this poem written by my son Ian when he was in grammar school. I don't know how old he was, but he must have been pretty young judging by the kitty cat and smiley faces. Out of the mouths of babes... I could learn a thing or two from him!

This is a poem by the great Colombian poet Eduardo Carranza. It's near and dear to my heart, but I hope the day will come when it's no longer relevant in my life. It's one of my favorite poems ever, and I thank the mad Honduran for giving it to me...


DOMINGO
Un domingo sin ti, de ti perdido,
es como un túnel de paredes grises
donde voy alumbrado por tu nombre;
es una noche clara sin saberlo
o un lunes disfrazado de domingo;
es como un día azul sin tu permiso.

Llueve en este poema; tú lo sientes
con tu alma vecina del cristal;
llueve tu ausencia como un agua triste
y azul sobre mi frente desterrada.
 
He comprendido cómo una palabra
pequeña, igual a un alfiler de luna
o un leve corazón de mariposa,
alzar puede murallas infinitas,
matar una mañana de repente,
evaporar azules y jardines,
tronchar un día como si fuera un lirio,
volver granos de sal a los luceros.
 
He comprendido cómo una palabra
de la materia azul de las espadas
y con aguda vocación de espina,
puede estar en la luz como una herida
que nos duele en el centro de la vida.

Llueve en este poema, y el domingo
gira como un lejano carrusel;
tan cerca estás de mí que no te veo,
hecha de mis palabras y mi sueño.
 
Yo pienso en ti detrás de la distancia,
con tu voz que me inventa los domingos
y la sonrisa como un vago pétalo
cayendo de tu rostro sobre mi alma.
 
Con su hoja volando hacia la noche,
rayado de llovizna y desencanto,
este domingo sin tu visto bueno
llega como una carta equivocada.
 
La tarde, niña, tiene esa tristeza
del aire donde hubo antes una rosa;
yo estoy aquí rodeado de tu ausencia
hecho de amor y solo como un hombre.

I <3 U 4-ever! (or until the next update)

I'm just about done giving a damn about a bunch of Facebook-related BS. Maybe sometimes, the past is better left in the past. I've been on Facebook for 5 years, and I've reconnected with a lot of people I probably would never have seen again if it weren't for FB. Some have been really worthwhile, some have been really horrible, and most haven't made much of a difference one way or the other. If I didn't hear from them again, I wouldn't notice at all.

A few of these FB friendships have grown into what I believed were serious relationships. They started on Facebook or at FB-related functions, and they all ended with the real-life equivalent of the PC blue-screen of death; utterly frozen with no hope of repair except for a REBOOT and complete restart (What did you lose? U should have backed your stuff up along the way fucko!)

These hyper-emotional, crazy-fast moving, and ultimately pointless affairs have all ended abruptly with one of us backing out on what appears to be a whim. It's like the spell is broken once it sinks in that there is a real-life, flesh and blood person behind the text on the screen; a human being, that can't be muted or channel-surfed away when the song that's playing gets played out, or when the story gets bogged down with too many open-ended plot-points.Things get weird when a character on your favorite show wants to know why you won't return phone-calls, or asks questions that don't have simple answers. Entertainment doesn't talk back and it never, ever gets mad at you; that's what real-life people do, not FB friends!

Eventually, each of these "relationships" have crashed without making a sound, leaving nothing behind but questions, self-doubt and emptiness. After months of intense (albeit mostly electronic) communication, what inevitably follows is complete and utter silence. Nothing meaningful at all. White noise and dead links. No substantial friendship, no real memories, not even a lousy T-shirt. Just a shit-load of bullshit smileys, posted songs and stale super-pokes. New and improved status: Game Over!

It's as if the normal rules of human relations don't apply to Facebook. Saying goodbye to a Facebook friend seems to be as simple as hitting 'delete' or in extreme cases 'block this person'. Even more unsettling is the invisible limbo of mutual polite non-friendship that exists between formerly tight FB buddies that haven't been brave enough to cut the virtual link by de-friending. I've had all of these done to me, and I've done them myself. These are virtual relationships, with none of the attachments that messy, real-life relationships carry. No need to explain, no need to apologize, no need to regret.
CTRL-ALT-DELETE.
It's that simple, and there's always a new, less compicated friend waiting for us at the click of a mouse.

I've always tried to be as real as I can be with my 'Facebook friends', and that may be my problem. We are nothing but another form of entertainment in an ocean of viewing choices, available to anyone with an internet connection and some free time on their hands. I'm afraid that I've put entirely too much time and effort into something that, in the end, is nothing more than a fancy video game and super-efficient marketing tool.

Here's what God wants me to know on this day:

If Facebook disappeared tomorrow, who would I care enough about to keep in touch with the old-fashioned way? And who would care enough to keep in touch with me?

Those are the people who matter, and I'll be sure to make that my default setting from now on.

Then again, I swear that I'm logging off for good! It wouldn't be the first time I've vowed to stop the vicious status-update cycle. Having said that, and despite my better judgement, the truth is that I'll prolly be back on tomorrow...

Hmmmm... I think I'll tweet that last part, hopefully it's not too long!

I went to a Catholic grammar school, and we used to ask the nuns all the time, "What is heaven like?"
After adjusting their habits squarely on their heads they'd say, "Imagine the best moment of your life, and times it by a million!"
I don't know exactly what they had in mind back then, but I'm pretty psyched about it now! I could swear that was EXACTLY the type of behavior that they told us led to the other place though! ;)))

Can exes ever be friends?

I'm friendly with most of my exes, but I wouldn't say we're friends. Friend is a word that's overused. Facebook friending might have something to do with it. A true friendship goes through ups and downs, it weathers storms and doesn't get deleted with a simple mouse click.

I am lucky to have some incredible friends that have stuck with me for years, through the hilarious and the horrible. They are the ones I know i can call when I'm in need of perspective, when I need some truth.

No bullshit, no games.

I don't think I could have that with an ex. There would always be the need to put a brave face on things. If a friend is someone you can tell anything that you're feeling to, then not being able to say something as important as "Sometimes I miss having you in my life" or "I don't understand what happened to us", makes being true friends nearly impossible. Silence would creep in, creating cracks which would eventually become uneasy chasms. Meeting half-way becomes an impossible feat.

I believe the stronger the passion during a relationship, the less likely that a real friendship is possible afterwards. It's as if a relationship, any relationship, has a finite supply of gunpowder. Most friendships develop over time and the store of powder is consumed slowly as the friendship grows. Even if occasionally tempers flare, they are extinguished long before the supply is gone. If not, then the friendship dies as so many do.

A passionate love affair is like a bomb, it changes everything when it detonates, and no one in the blast zone escapes unscathed. There's very little powder left once that bomb goes off. And it becomes really difficult to hear one another other from all the ringing in their ears. All that remains is to clean-up the mess, tend to wounds and hope that one day the ringing will stop, and you'll be able to hear the sweetness in each other's voices once again.

True lovers become best friends, even if only for a little while. When it's over, you tend to miss the friendship long after you stop missing the passion. The feeling that the other person knew exactly who you were and precisely what you need, is often the first and worst casualty of the big blast.

The hardest part of letting go of great love is accepting that you may never feel so sure again. After all, how many great loves are we allowed in a lifetime? Ask anyone that's been around a while, it's not a big number. The heart continues to beat, infinite in it's capacity to love... but great love is rare, and if sent away too often, it tends to keep a respectful distance. Be good to great love, I know i will.

Woke up to some horrible news that puts it all into perspective for me. My nephew by marriage passed away this morning. He just never made it through the night. He was 16.

My sons are the most important part of my life, and sometimes I forget that. I get so involved in work, relationships, friendships and spinning around on this hectic sphere, that I don't take the time to show them. I cannot even begin to imagine what his mom feels like this morning, but I know how I feel. I feel fragile. I feel lucky. I feel like holding on to my sons and never letting go.

God bless our family and yours.

I can't seem to write anything that doesn't sound whiny to me these last few days. Everything comes out sounding like pointless questions:

Q:"Why?"
A:"Easy killer... why not?"

Q:"How?"
A:"You were there, you tell me!"

Q:"But..."
A:"That's not even a question!"

Even my supermarket list sounds desperate to me:

Apples
Relish
Wine
Rope
Hammer and nails

Not too obviously needy at first glance, but even a first year psychology student could tell you that it REEKS of desperation. The hammer and nails are a dead giveaway.

Speaking of supermarkets, I shop at Thunderdome. The produce aisle is a miracle of modern fruit merchandising. The cantaloupes are turned hourly by misting monkeys, and the bananas all wear helmets.

There's a wise old pumpkin-monger there every Tuesday. He always has a piece of earthy wisdom to impart. And since I have nothing, I thought I'd share his words with you:

"Ask whatever you want.
You may heed what I say, or you may not.
You may agree or not.
You may run away screaming when I'm through.
Or...
You may hear something that could very well change the way you perceive EVERYTHING.
I may hold the missing piece that leads to the answer to the question you've been asking your entire life!

...And the pumpkin will still be a pumpkin and cost 89¢ a pound."

What a Dick! lol

So now I got a blog. I've been thinking about what kind of stuff people want to read. Greeting cards and the national enquirer mostly. So I thought, why not both?

"I'm sorry your baby is a bat-boy."

or

"Congratulations, you're psychic! Guess what finger I'm holding up?"

"I'm sorry about your dead cat, be grateful you have 162 more!"

"Thanks for believing me!"

"In 2012, none of this will matter! Glad I'm spending end of days with you."

 

 "Every Bigfoot needs a Nessie. You're my Nessie!"

                                                                 

There are so many ways of combining the warm fuzzy greeting card with the reeking insanity of tabloids.The possibilities are endless! But prolly not too funny, so I'm stopping after two more. 

"I'm glad you're feeling better, sorry you got probed!"

"Charlie Sheen was here.
All green things must die.
You're on your way!
Good luck at college!"

Silly, but is it? IS IT? Ask Charlie how silly it is.

 

"Dear God: Thank You For Punks!"

Every once in a while, I get excited about a band all over again. Today, it was my turn to rediscover The Clash. It all started with a great story I read about the band in Rolling Stone. I had almost forgotten how truly radical they were in their beliefs, especially Joe Strummer! His father was a diplomat, so he travelled quite a lot as a child.

Africa, Mexico, Turkey.

Those places surely influenced the ferocity with which he attacked the establishment through his songs and his beliefs. He never wavered in his defense of human dignity and human rights; and he never apologized for the giddy pleasure he got from 'sticking it to the man'. It's all there in the songs. In the music and lyrics are the anger, the righteousness and most unexpected of all, the great sense of humor that was the hallmark of a great Clash song. For being a part of 'the only band that mattered' during a time of extreme strife in late 70's England, Joe and the boys kept their message grounded in hope and love for ordinary people - not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of Punk Rock! I think Joe Strummer, and other punks from that time (David Byrne, Patti Smith and Henry Rollins come to mind) transcended the fashion of it all. They understood that the power of punk didn't come from combat boots, or safety pins or even from painting sacred cows with chrome-pink paint...

Behind the barked lyrics and distorted guitar riffs, there was a philosophy which wasn't very alien or even very ground-breaking - The individual MATTERS, and his/her right to exist and express him/herself must be defended at ANY COST! I believe that is a very PUNK sensibility. They haven't done too badly for a bunch of pierced juvenile delinquents and social deviants. The world's a better place because of Punk Rockers. These days, even the most buttoned-up soccer mom will proudly admit that she's got a little Siouxie Sioux in her!

MANIMALS?

What did I learn today... what did I learn... learn... did... tooooday.... ?
OH! WAIT! I LEARNED...
no, wait... that was Monday... HMMMMM...Know what? I don't think I learned a GODdamn thing today!

Except this:
There is no such thing as MANIMALS.

Save us AMRadio... You're our only hope!

The Ingeniously Handy Dr. Felder


Our hospital is facing numerous violations from various state and federal agencies for improper practices stemming from a two week long "creative surgery" binge perpetrated by our own Dr. Felder. What follows are internal memorandum and are STRICTLY confidential.

The first case involves Ms. Sharon Shapely, a tennis instructor at the Lazy-S Naturist Retreat in Boca. She was brought in for emergency surgery after a golf cart struck her while she was bending over to pick up some stray tennis balls. Dr. Felder proceeded to patch her up and provide a fix for what he perceived to be a simple problem of poor ergonomic design. He removed approximately 3 feet of her intestines, and folded her abdominal muscles around the remaining portion; creating a sort of mouth into which, it was later discovered, three regulation size tennis balls could be perfectly inserted. Her bowels were otherwise normal, no doubt aided by her own admitted tendencies of being a "root nut", a "veggie fiend", and that she only ate steak once a month.

Ms. Shapely states:
"The boys down at Shula's know when Aunt Flow comes a' visiting and they always save me the choicest cut of tenderloin!"

Since the operation, Ms. Shapely has devised a rather ingenious method of swiveling her hips in a sort of half-hula movement and popping the tennis balls out one at a time. She says it's helped her game immensely.

Case status: Malpractice claim settled for an undisclosed amount.

Case Note: Hospital is currently in litigation with Ms. Shapely over patent rights of said operation. Apparently, the USTA has formed an exploratory committee to investigate the feasibility of adopting the surgical procedure for possible use in future tournaments.

The second case involves Mr. Craig Turdley, a VP of mergers and acquisitions at Bing and Perch, a mid-size investment firm in Downtown Miami.

Mr. Turdley was brought in with lacerations over his buttocks and back area caused by a fall from a second-story window. According to Mrs. Turdley (who prefers the hyphenate Turdley-Bidette), Mr. Turdley suffers from acute panic attacks that strike in the middle of the night. In these episodes, he is convinced that 'lunch meats' are attempting to devour him. Mrs. Turdley-Bidette states that she is a light sleeper, and that she is usually able to wake him before any significant damage is done. Unfortunately for Mr. Turdley, Mrs. Turdley-Bidette had begun a new stepping class that week, and as a result of ingesting two Excedrin PMs to help with soreness, she had slept cleanly through the whole incident.

Mrs. Turdley-Bidette states:
"I told him not to have the sausage! It's always bad when he has the sausage! I woke up and just saw him down there flailing around in the hedges like a big 'ol flounder! I thought he broke his ever-loving neck! From where I stood, it looked impacted or something!"

Mr. Turdley was brought in and evaluated. His neck was not 'impacted' as Mrs. Turdley-Bidette had feared, however his colon was. He was moved to the surgery unit, and Dr. Felder operated. Two hours later, the patient was resting comfortably in his room. On the front cover of his hospital chart, someone had scrawled in what appeared to be red grease pencil, "bandages not to be removed by STRICT order of the Physician in Charge". All of our cases seem to have similarly cryptic post-op instructions apparently put there by Dr. Felder himself. We now believe that is how he was able to conceal his 'alterations' for as long as he did.

Ultimately, it was discovered that in addition to diverting his colon and attending to Mr. Turdley's various lacerations, Dr. Felder had installed a small 'switch' at base of the patient's skull, directly behind his left ear. When the hospital staff (under my direction) flipped the switch, Mr. Turdley immediately fell into what appeared to be a profound sleep. Further tests proved that the switch triggered on and off all but the most essential life-support functions. When asked about the 'implant' in a phone conversation from an undisclosed location, Dr. Felder stated that the idea had come to him at the Home Depot while shopping with Mrs. Dr. Felder, in the midst of an argument over window treatments for their bungalow in the Florida Keys.

Case Status: The patient has decided not to sue the hospital or Dr. Felder. Apparently, he's getting the best sleep of his life. Mrs. Turdley-Bidette switches him off promptly at 11 pm after Mad Money, and switches him back on at 6 am ready for a low-fat breakfast and another day at Bing, Perch and (as of June 1) Turdley.

Case Note: The threat of a lawsuit was revisited recently by Mr. Turdley's attorneys. It seems that Mrs. Turdley-Bidette has begun a kick-aerobics/Zoomba class and the Excedrin PMs she's taking to alleviate soreness has caused her to oversleep. Last Wednesday, she didn't turn on Mr. Turdley until after 8, causing him to be quite late for a very important meeting. The hospital has agreed, at no further cost to Mr. Turdley, to install an electrical timer (Black & Decker-for maximum compatibility) behind Mr. Turdley's other ear. This upgrade should alleviate any further complications and/or threats of litigation.

Our third and final case is one Loretta Lillie of Pembroke Pines. It seems Miss Lillie was admitted complaining of severe abdominal cramps. After questioning Miss Lillie and upon further examination, the admitting physician determined that the pain was being caused by a herniation in the duodenum area of her lower sphincter region. Miss Lillie, a rather shy young lady with impeccable manners, admitted to the attending nurse only after repeated and deliberate prodding, that she had never in her life passed gas.

She was immediately wheeled into surgery, where Dr. Felder set upon repairing said rupture. Additionally, he implanted a rather discreet 'release valve' just below the bikini line. According to Miss Lillie in depositions recorded post-surgery, the valve accepts various gauges of hoses and attachments, an assortment of which she found in her courtesy basket upon discharge.

Miss Lillie states:
"Sometimes I just go to the park by myself when I'm feeling a bit depressed or bloated, buy myself a pack of white balloons, fill them up one by one... and watch them float away..."

Case Status: Currently, Miss Lillie is suing the hospital and Dr. Felder for malpractice. Apparently, the valve has an automatic safety mechanism that makes a rather unpleasant whistling sound when released. The grounds of her lawsuit are dubious at best, only the most liberal interpretation of case law would award damages for pain and suffering on the mere fact that Miss Lillie's co-workers have taken to calling her "Tea-kettle" behind her back.

Case Notes: When last contacted, Miss Lillie was operating a profitable methane filling station, and is considering dropping her lawsuit against the hospital and Dr. Felder. She has also been named a 'Trailblazer' by President Obama's CFFFF (Council for a Fossil-Free Future) for her contributions in alternative energies.

The administration appreciates all input and will be providing further patient updates as we unravel this mess. It seems that Dr. Felder has vanished, but rest assured that we have the FBI, the Coast Guard and various Electricians' Unions hot on his trail. He will be brought back and made to answer for these horrific (albeit practical) abominations.

One final note:
A full investigation has been launched to look into the rumors of complicity amongst the nursing staff and operating room personnel in regards to the aforementioned matters. The administration cannot help but wonder how anyone could have missed Dr. Felder entering the O.R. wearing an orange canvas tool-belt, carrying voltage testers and a soldering iron. Rest assured, full inquiries will be made and security footage will be reviewed thoroughly.

Gomer P. Comstock III, MD, PHD, JD, ADD

Hello and welcome to the Monkey-House!

This house has very few rules, actually one rule -
Don't be a douche!

I take that back, there is one other rule. Let me explain...

I was a regular monkey once, no different than any other monkey. I spent my days in a usual monkey way. Just hangin round the monkey joint, joking around with my monkey friends, posting on ape-book, and occasionally throwing poo at folks! Ordinary. Monkey. Hijinks!
Then one day, I'm not sure when exactly, I'm pretty sure it was a Tuesday, I became the AlphaMonkey. Great responsibility came with being AlphaMonkey, but along with that responsibility came great wisdom, great comedy and a free blogger.com account.

SO, here I am, no longer mere monkey, but something entirely grander and freakishly unpredictable ...

A monkey with a thousand typewriters! Hopefully, we'll make Shakespeare roll over in his crypt a few times before we're done!

Welcome to the AlphaMonkey Blog.

Bring ideas, bring poetry, bring bananas or any other kind of fruit you might have....

Just bring It all to the Monkey-House!