BUDDHA

If God would only give us a year together, that would be... No! No! No! If God would only give us a month together, that would be... No! No! No! If God would only give us a day together, that would be... No! No! No! If God would only give us an hour together that would be... No! No! No! If God would only give us a minute together, that would be... No! No! No! If God would only give us a second together, that would be... No! No! No! If God would only give us a moment together, Yes! Yes! Yes! that would be an eternity.

I write and I think of you. I play the guitar and I think of you. I hit the weights and I think of you. I sit in the sauna and I think of you. I study my Portuguese and I think of you. I imagine myself in Argentina and I think of you. I drink a beer at the bar and I think of you. I take a shower and I think of you. I look at my aging face and I think of you. I watch my son play football and I think of you. I hit tennis balls and I think of you. I smoke a joint with my compadre and I think of you. I go for an evening walk and I think of you. I lie in bed at night and I think of you. And when I am dead, I will be thinking of you.

I hope when you call,  it is me you want to answer. I hope when you open the door,  it is me you want to see. I hope when you kiss me, it is my lips you want to savor. I hope when you touch me, it is my body you desire. I hope when I leave you,  it is me whom you want to see again. I hope when you are enjoying a beautiful day,  it is me whom you want by your side. I hope when you are sad,  it is me who brings you peace. I hope.

With the exception of the first which is reserved for thinkers who were secular rather than religious, Donald Trump could be condemned to the other eight circles of Dante's hell. Two through five are for those culpable of lust, gluttony, greed and wrath. Trump is the epitome of all all four. He is a fat pig angrily suppurating sperm instead of sweat from his corpulent body as he rants and raves heinous rhetoric. Has there ever been a more despicable politician in the history of the United States? He is the modern Pied Piper whose followers are idiots rather than rats. The final four, six through nine, carry harsher tortures and punishments. These outcasts have been sentenced to eternal misery for heresy, violence, fraud and treachery. He precipitated violence on January 6th. His whole life has been consumed by fraud for which he is presently paying a handsome price for his ugly acts and treachery oozes like pus from the belly flab of innumerable open sores. Even lepers keep their d...

And so it begins, the daily struggle, the battle to make sense out of life. We are alone. There is no consciousness after we are dead. Some of the worst people adhere to a fictional mythology. We return to the state from which we emerged. There is no heaven. Certain moments can be described as heavenly, but there is no blissful afterlife, not even for the Islamic martyrs who have been told there will be virgins waiting for them once they cross the threshold from existence to non-existence. There is hell and hell is here. We are meant to suffer. We must try our best to overcome our suffering or we will fall victims to insanity or even take our own lives. We are all destined to die, even our beautiful babies and young children, and we are destined to be forgotten. Unless you're a great artist, not a trace will remain of you or those who used to remember you. It is all a foregone conclusion. Two weeks don't pass that someone I know doesn't pass. These constant concatenations o...

One day they will talk about those happy Sunday afternoons when the last of the Baby Boomers would congregate on the deck at Cobbleheads where they would drink copiously while Emilio Crixell and his eclectic band of musicians would belt out the blues as well as the sixty and seventy tunes that had stood the test of time. Proprietor Joe "The Irish Prick" Kenney, healthy once again that his throat cancer had been declared in remission, would stroll between the tables and greet everyone in his thick Philly accent. A cigarette would be dangling from his mouth. His many customers would bum a smoke from him with the intention of saving his life. All the characters would be in attendance. Time had taken its toll as the men did their best to hide their beer bellies behind loose fitting shirts while there wasn't much the women could do about the wrinkles searing their faces. They were also from a time when being natural was the mantra, so their principles excluded breast jobs. The...