Beer Cans on the Counter and Random Thoughts at 0436 08.03.17


Just woke and fixed a salad made up of cucumber, sweet onion, tomato, and Caesar dressing. Love it. Thinking of writing a play. Wish I had the talent. Don’t think that I do. In the meantime I look at my family history and think of all the rich material there and believe it is sad to let the story not be told. I look at life and see mistakes, countless mistakes, and a tragedy that should never have occurred and wonder just how to handle it. I wonder if it should be told and does it really matter. I don’t know. Really. I don’t know. I just see this pile of shit (can I say that?) and wonder about it all. I wonder who would it matter to except for myself?

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Once
a poem by Gordon Kuhn Copyright 08.03.17

I was young once and lived all alone.
Each night I sat drunk in the dark
And listened to the neighbors fighting down the street
He said, she said, oh who gives a royal fuck.

My nightly dinner a plate of fresh boiled spaghetti,
The sauce a greasy mix of fried bacon with sweet onion
My drink a tepid six pack of cheap bought beer
The couch before the tv was my throne
And drunk I had not a drop of respectability
As I staggered about in my individuality
Inside the one bedroom apartment
Lost in a world without companionship
Lost without counsel, without guidance
And faced life confused and all alone.

Beer cans setting on the counter
One rolled up under the recliner rocker
Neighbors fighting down the street
He said, she said, oh who gives a fuck
Simply leave me alone, all alone
Its how I want to live, all alone
Being young once and eating a dinner of spaghetti
Its sauce fried bacon and onion on top a greasy mix
Washed down by a six pack of Old Milwaukee
I could not afford a better fare.

Beer cans setting on the counter
My body asleep on the floor
Alcoholism was the bed time Teddy Bear
Beside the bed near the door
Where I could see the beer can under the rocker
The neighbors screaming, fighting down the street
He said, she said, oh who gives a fuck.

Beer cans setting on the counter
The neighbors fighting down the street
He said, she said, oh who really gives a fuck.

Poetry and Random Thoughts 073017/0608


There is a difference, I think, from the common to the uncommon. Yet, in many cases they appear side by side as twins. Just a subtle difference here or there can determine the difference that you and I cannot perceive on the surface. But isn’t that the problem? Isn’t it how we perceive what we consider to be4 reality?

I have, since early childhood, wondered how you and I see color. A teacher points at a chart and says, “That is blue.” Really? Think about this for a moment. The teacher has an assigned role to play and relies upon her belief and understanding of common versus uncommon. And yet, how do we know if her understanding is correct?

If she says that the object she is pointing to is blue you record that in your mind as being blue. But what if her perception of blue is more tinted with green in your mind. So every time you look at item that in your mind has green in it or perceive it as such then when called upon to point at blue in a test you we pointing at something which in your mind is blue and yet in reality is blue-green  to her but she perceives it as blue because she sees everything put before her as blue being blue and yet her mind approaches the color she sees as being blue-green.

I mean, seriously, how can we come to the belief that what you see versus what I see is actually correct.

In another example, I just fell asleep while sitting here and dreamt I was at a seminar. The hotel that we were staying at was very nice and had a very large swimming pool. Everyone was swimming and so I decided to join in. I just now realized that I was the only one in the swimming pool that was naked but neither I nor anyone else recognized that fact until in my mind I just now realized that I was naked. The reason is because I remembered that in my dream I did not have any swimming suit with me. But in my mistaken reality I and everyone there had a swimming suit on. So, if by chance, you happen to go swimming the question then becomes are you wearing a swimming suit or are you naked.

So, I guess, the real question is quite simply: what is reality?

 

 

KIRKUS REVIEW OF DO YOU KNOW HOW TO FLY?


KIRKUS REVIEW

Kuhn’s debut true-crime story shows how a violent man’s life led him to death row.

The author uses interviews and other sources to piece together the life of Delmer Smith, a seasoned career criminal awaiting execution in Florida. Smith was born in Detroit in 1971, on the cusp of the city’s economic decline. By age 14, he was convicted of raping a woman at a carwash where he worked. The 18 months that he spent in a juvenile reformatory dashed any possibility of rehabilitation; instead, he learned “how to be more proficient as a criminal” as he became “a creature without a conscience.” As a young adult, Kuhn writes, Smith carried out burglaries, carjackings, and bank robberies, which eventually led to a 15-year incarceration. After his second prison stint, he moved to Florida; there, Kuhn writes, Smith assaulted and beat multiple women—all the while leading a double life as a “wise and loving uncle” to his two nieces. Eventually, the violence led to a murder conviction. The author interviewed many of Smith’s victims and found that the women were now “desperately seeking someone or something to fully trust again.” Thanks to these firsthand accounts, readers receive a nuanced portrait of a predatory man. Kuhn’s decision to jump between accounts of Smith’s early life and present-day interviews is an effective one; by regularly pulling readers back to the present, he reminds them of the painful, enduring impact of his subject’s actions. Moreover, Kuhn shows a great deal of sensitivity when recounting the crimes, evoking deep pathos instead of graphic sensationalism. That said, the book does include some unnecessary background information, including three pages on Smith’s birth alone; it also bafflingly overuses section breaks, which disrupt the otherwise strong narrative flow.

A thoughtful, engaging account of a brutal life and the carnage that it left behind.

BOOK — TWISTED, Page Two 12.19.2015


Surrounding the valley were mountains named Desperation. They were so named for the disease that drove some of the colony members to attempt escape from the valley. These runners, as they came to be known, would leave quietly but hurriedly, turning away from family and friends and rush into the rain that pelted the mountains continuously. The mountains were all too well-known for their power to strip runners’ souls from their bodies. Men and women would struggle up the fog covered rocky slopes cutting their hands on sharp stones. Their bodies were attacked by ever twisting winds that ripped at the runners’ clothing tearing it away in some cases.

Even as these men and women desperately climbed up foot by painfully gained foot to escape the darkness that lay behind them, it seemed as if they had made no advance. For those who were able to speak later, after being found by rescue parties that were reluctant to leave the colony’s closely kept border to look for the runners, it seemed to them that no matter how high they thought they had climbed, when they paused and looked behind them, they found they were just steps from the base of their tormentor. It appeared to them that they had climbed no further than a few feet even after hours of struggle and, after a while, they would drop, drawing their bodies into a ball, and weep. Some tried to retrace and reach the base only to find that each step down took no distance away. In fact the more they attempted to go down the more distant from the base they found themselves.

GUILT – who needs it?


It is amazing to me that I can dredge up so much crap to feel guilty about! I can do it whenever and wherever I happen to be. I have absolutely NO problem with beating the hell out of myself over anything that I believe is wrong in my past including failure to open a door for someone or note helping someone with their groceries…. these are really minor but the major ones well….. I mean, let me tell you, I bet that we ALL have guilt (except those who are sociopaths) in some fashion for things done or left undone or not eve considered at the time. Stupid things. Why do we do stupid things. Why do I do stupid things. I don’t know.  Why am I writing this blog? Will I feel stupid and guilty after I publish it? Yep. I can feel guilty about just about everything including sneezing in public.

So, why? I guess that is the question. Why? And is that part of the depression that kills people that they cannot cope with the guilt that they feel and that most people would say is a bunch of bull shit or to not worry about. I don’t know. I really don’t know. I’ve dealt with depression a lot in my life. I have dealt with wondering if I was swapped at birth because my family is definitely different in so many ways from me that I really wonder how I came to be a part of it.

But, I suppose guilt can be beneficial particularly when it comes to not repeating some stupid thing that you might feel guilty about. If you learn from having been stupid then I guess that is a good thing and that guilt will keep you from redoing some stupid thing, hopefully. But long term guilt can be damaging.

I have a friend who admitted to me and several other guys that he failed to have sex with a high school love interest and that when he looked back at the night they spent together when they could have had sex that he feels stupid. I wonder how many others have shared that feeling. I know I have. So, is that a bad thing? Hell if I know, but I do know it helped him to tell us about it and I think it helped the rest of us deal with like guilt and if we didn’t connect properly to the “guilt release” then we’ll just all wake up feeling guilty about that.

KGBETHLEHEM


A blogger with a desire to help others! While he and I may disagree on some issues politically, I have to give him space here out of respect for all the work he has done in his life. You have to read about him. He tells his story well and, I feel, there is much more to come. He is a blogger, a poet, and, most importantly, a family man who loves his kids. His poetry is from his heart and from his experiences in life. Go and visit him at:

 

http://kgbethlehem.com/

or

About…

MORGAN FEESE


There are a lot of issues in this world that need to be addressed and in many cases they are covered up. This site, MORGANFEESE is one written by a survivor. I suggest you take the time to visit, to read, comment, and follow.

You can visit her site at: http://morganfeese23.wordpress.com/about/

Such crimes go unnoticed because in many cases the family circles the wagons and protects the abuser. It happens all too frequently. It is because the family is 1) embarrassed and 2) refuses to accept something that they all know is going on.

Just as a side comment, are you aware that sexual slavery is a major crime in the United States where people are bought and sold as sex slaves? Florida has a traffic route through it. Sarasota, FL. is on that route and in Bradenton, FL two safe houses have been set up. How tragic that in today’s world we have slavery going on with people being bought and sold and little is being said or done about it. How tragic.