ODE TO STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS

I watch Nazi documentaries. I enjoy your history lesson told in a sonorous style. The Russians don't get enough credit for destroying the Nazis. Our textbooks prefer portraying us as the world's saviors. Nothing has changed with Trump and his strumpets wanting to resurrect the dead fascists.

As long as it gets you out of bed, you couldn't ask for anything more. And when evening comes, head down to the nearest honky-tonk and get drunk.

I suspect that blue bird was a wolf in sheep's clothing. I believe it was a mockingbird who inhabited  Baudelaire's soul.

I was raised in the era when fathers came home at five. I used to wait anxiously for mine so we could play catch. He's gone and, like you, I feel weighed down by my memories that I'm the one being tossed back and forth. 

On the other hand in the oven that is Brownsville for at least six months of the year, I relish the dark, overcast skies. I call it poetic weather. From your piece, I might deduce that you were writing in poetic weather. Do your best to deny gloom any room.

Life is a juggling act. If you're fortunate enough to find your soul mate, you have defied fate.

It sounds like an adventure. You seem the type who is willing to throw the dice. Go for it!

Appearing is the key here. We need more people appearing as they are, regardless of their predilections.

I'm a product of that era. I was born in 1950. I remember it all well. Raised in California, we never categorized marijuana smoke as pollution. Was it all a dream or was it just the marijuana we smoked? Peace!

Keep it simple and you can communicate the most complicated of matters.

Just a spontaneous reaction to a tasty brunch.

I love the mystery of poems I don't understand. You have placed me in a state of delightful confusion. I feel like I'm watching a foreign movie and trying my best to make sense of the film via the subtitles. One must learn to embrace confusion since we're sentenced to perpetual confusion.

I enjoy your litany of free-associated phrases. I am in my older years, so I have to confess that I'm generally lost but appreciative of the energy. Out of curiosity: Do video games inspire you poetically?

I need to start my days with more poems like this one. Your words make me want to waltz. Good stuff.

I used to have long hair in my youthful days back in the 1970s. I am practically bald now. When I think of my long hair, I think of my lost youth. That's enough to make me cry.

If I didn't know better, I would say that you are inspired by the beat generation. I just ordered Naked Lunch by William Burroughs. Maybe I will discover you as one of the characters in the novel--for lack of a better description--making a cameo appearance.

When your life with another has become a long poem, not even Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet matches your love. Congratulations on finding the right verse and its never-ending rhyme.

Sounds ominous. It will be a civil war. The good will defeat the bad, but there will be much death and destruction. Nothing will be the same again.

Thanks. I'm addicted to positive comments. We know all about Xanax's dark side.

There is a bad side, over which we have little control, that motivates sad decisions.

Coping with death is easier said than done.

Rain or shine, everything's fine as long as there is a rainbow at the end of the poem. Hope you find your pot of gold.

Sounds good. No matter how bad things may get, it will give you something to write about. Stick with the scum and the soot.

I am not materialistic and I seek detachment but not at the expense of all relationships. I have found that Zen and Stoicism have much in common. I sympathize with both philosophies, but I have a carnal side that resents being relegated to a cage. Mentally and physically I'm two different people, but I do my best to meld the pair.

Why would one want to erase a memory when that is all that remains of a past love? Why would someone demand that action? Next, the new love will be insisting on a lobotomy to eliminate all remembrances that weren't specifically about her.

Don't look in the mirror. Take a hot shower and put on clean clothes. Go to a decent restaurant, eat a steak and drink a bottle of wine.

Older women need to enjoy themselves more. Most older men know they don't stand a chance with the young things. They need to appreciate the fine gals who can also appreciate the geriatric gentlemen. A lady in the hand is worth two twenty-somethings in the bush. And a bush is a bush.

Living one day at a time may not be an accurate statement. Surviving one day at a time may be a more appropriate.

Hasn't this fight been going on for centuries since before David fired a perfect shot? They even eat their own. They certainly aren't Christians although Christians aren't any better.

When you compare love to the weather, you know that you are admitting that fickleness controls relationships. Just let it rain. Then you won't notice the tears.

There is something serendipitous about two lovers in a boat floating on calm waters. We know that once they return to dry land, it will shower on their picnic.

I've never encountered the term intellectual rapist. I suppose it's possible since Trump has proven there are many different forms of rape. His followers have been sexually assaulted mentally.

We are all frauds, but that doesn't mean we don't try. You don't want to say that you didn't give it your best shot before you die.